


To Reach the Moon

by fromthefiresofhell



Series: The Universe is Ours [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cas is 17, Dean is early twenties, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, F/F, Librarian Castiel, M/M, Mpreg, Police Officer Dean, Rutting, Sexual Harassment, Slight underage, Swearing, Underage Sex, dv and r/n-c are in reference to a single scene, like wow a lot of angst, pretty much the whole thing is angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 06:31:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthefiresofhell/pseuds/fromthefiresofhell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nothing much Castiel could want for- he likes his job, his mate, and his lifestyle. Everything is perfect, which is why he should have known that something was coming, something that would throw off the fragile balance of his life completely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Reach the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Finally uploaded the sequel(: Sorry it took so long, it would've been up days ago but when I copied the text from word it made everything italics so I had to go back and manually take out the italics html code from every line. Unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own.

Castiel learned three very important things about Dean in two weeks.

The first was that as much as Dean tried to ignore his alpha tendencies, at the end of the day, he couldn’t simply push that part of him away. If Castiel came home smelling more like another alpha than he did books, Dean would growl and fuck him until he couldn’t smell anything but himself in the thick hair of his head and the sweat dripping down his skin. In public, Dean would conspicuously loop his arm around Castiel’s waist and shoot other alphas a grin that was more a leer when he caught them eyeing Castiel’s narrow, misleadingly slight figure and jutting hips. Handle hips, Dean called them. 

Secondly, Dean had a _thing_ for panties. The day after Dean dropped a pharmacy bag on the countertop with birth control and heat suppressants inside, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, Castiel went to the other side of Lawrence and bought himself an outfit- a frilly blue thing with a sheer, wispy drape. When Dean got home that night, he took one look at Castiel before pinning him to the wall and very nearly tearing the thin material with his teeth and oil-stained fingers in an effort to reach Castiel’s skin.

The last and very recently bit of learned information was that his monthly rut was coming on tomorrow.

“Tomorrow?!” Castiel repeated, voice much louder than it needed to be with Dean standing three feet away from him. 

“Yes, tomorrow,” Dean snapped, eyes narrowing at Castiel’s anger. Castiel would bet anything that one of the three most important things Dean had learned about him was his red hot rage streak, the one that could combust at any moment. It was living with Dean Winchester that made it develop into the phoenix it is now. He used to be able to reign his emotions in, but now a fully developed bird could rise from the ashes at a moment’s notice. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me _before_?”

“Wow, would you look at that, I guess I _fucking forgot_! It’s almost like I’m a _human being_ capable of _making mistakes_!”

Castiel growled and turned away, lip twitching his anger. He ran his hands through his hair, focused on his breathing. If Dean was going into his rut, that meant he was already victim to the hormones beginning to flood his brain. An alpha in a rut, even a pre-rut, was not a force to be reckoned with.

Castiel should have left the apartment days ago, stayed in a hotel for a few nights to let the his scent dull down so Dean wouldn’t go into a frenzy the moment he woke up. Without that reassurance of that, Castiel wasn’t sure he felt safe hanging around the apartment. Even if Dean cared about the way he said he did, there would be no way to access that part of his mind during a rut and alphas could be terrifying when they wanted to be.

“Do you have things?”

Dean blinked, mask of anger relaxing into confusion. “Things?”

“Yes.” Castiel gestured to his wrist, his mouth. “Things.”

“I’ve never been with an omega during a rut,” Dean glowered, crossing his arms. “Or anyone.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I might be able to answer you question better if I had any idea what the fuck you’re referring to.”

“Restraints,” Castiel said, not feeling even the smallest bit of remorse when Dean’s eyes widened in horror.

“ _Restraints_?”

“Yes.”

“Like, _handcuffs_? And…and _gags_?” Dean said, voice an octave higher. 

“I was thinking something more durable, but yes, you have the general idea.” 

“I’m not a fucking _animal, you don’t have to _chain me up_. Jesus, Cas.” _

Dean turned his back to Castiel and vaulted over the back of the couch to drop onto the worn cushions, resolutely not moving and inch when Castiel came up behind him, close enough to hear the harsh breaths rushing in and out of his nose. He tensed up when Castiel slid his fingers into his hair, but quickly relaxed when he brushed a few of the longer strands off his forehead, melting back into the pillows when Castiel started massaging his scalp. 

“You just said you’ve never been with anyone during a rut.” 

“And?” 

“And you’ve never experienced the pull to take your mate during a rut.” 

Dean’s head snapped around comically, dislodging Castiel’s hands. “Dude. M-word.” 

Castiel rolled his eyes. He was well aware of Dean’s commitment an abandonment issues and couldn’t wait for him to get over them. “I’m merely translating what you’ll be thinking.” After his heat had ended, Castiel had done extensive research on omega safety, and one of the points that was stressed over and over was to stay out of any rutting alpha’s way, especially your mate. Alphas were possessive, but during ruts, they were overcome with the need to claim what was theirs as just that, _theirs_. They wouldn’t let anything stand in their way, especially the desires of that which they were claiming. 

“What if you just stay home for the day? You’ll get, like, a pseudo-heat, right? I won’t hurt you or anything?” 

“We can’t afford for me to skip a day of work, Dean, you know that.” 

Dean sighed and let his eyelids slip closed again, nudging his head in Castiel’s hands to make him resume his massaging. “Yeah, I know.” 

That night, while Dean took a cold shower, Castiel visited an alpha needs shop. 

A small, dainty bell tinkled when he walked in, completely at odds to the room around him. It was dim and smelled like three hundred different alphas had rubbed their oil glands all over the plush carpet and deep red walls. Castiel’s head spun and he quickly put a hand over his mouth, trying to filter out the overwhelming scent. 

“You’re not an alpha.” 

Castiel spun around, coming face to face with a tall brunette with her nose lifted to the air questioningly. He hadn’t even heard her walk up behind him. 

“Neither are you.” 

She grinned and shrugged. “Hey, if a beta’s gotta work, a beta’s gotta work. Your partner rutting?” 

Castiel nodded. 

“Gotta speak up, angel, these eyes can’t see much.” The woman lowered her sunglasses to expose milky white eyes that stared unblinkingly past Castiel. 

“Oh. Um, yes, he is.” 

The woman gave a brisk nod and pushed her glasses back up. “So, the usual?” 

“What’s the usual?” 

“Heavy duty chains, maybe some masking aerosol, good quality gags. Unless you’re into some kinky shit? We’ve got variety here. Believe me,” she leaned closer, lowered her voice “I don’t judge. Got a guy in here once, asked if we sold human leather.” 

Castiel gulped. “I think I’ll just stick to the usual.” 

“S’what I figured,” the saleswoman said, tapping the side of her temple as if in thought. There was a pause before she said a few seconds later, “Follow me.” 

The woman- Pamela, as her nametag read- brought Castiel past displays that were, in all honesty, terrifying. There were spikes and whips and hooks and leather and things that were far too pointy to be included in sexual activity. After daring to glance at a few of the racks, Castiel decided to keep his eyes on his steady shuffling feet. 

“Here we are,” Pamela said as they reached the far wall, stopping so suddenly that Castiel almost ran into her. She ran the tips of her fingers across the nearest chain, links rattling alarmingly loud in the quiet of the store. 

Castiel studied the selection of restraints. Thinking of Dean’s wrists, he chose a chain that had leather cuffs on each end in lieu of metal ones. And, if Dean’s creativity over the past few weeks was anything to go on, he would probably spend a great deal of time wearing them himself. 

“You want a gag? Alphas can get pretty loud and snappy during their time of month.” Pamela turned her head in his general direction and grinned. “My brother used to lock himself in the closet during his time of month. We still got complaints from the neighbors.” 

Castiel turned to the opposite wall and glanced over the display of gags. “Do you have anything…not…horrifying?” 

"Sure, sweetie, I think I can scrounge something up,” Pamela said, a laugh bubbling out around her words. 

She left, maneuvering herself through the shelves with startling efficiency despite her inability to see, leaving Castiel standing among chains and whips and objects he didn’t want to put a name to. He glanced uncertainly around, trying to decide between nonchalant browsing and terrified stillness. 

Choosing a happy medium, Castiel approached the least threatening display he could see, a small pyramid of what looked like air freshener. He picked up one of the cans and flipped it over, expecting to see an overly clichéd name like _Fresh Spring Rain_ or _Gentle Ocean Breeze_ , but instead, written across the can in bold red letters, the word _Antipheromonic_ stood out at him. His gaze dropped down below the title to a short explanation that read- in equally bold letters- “a heavy duty masking aerosol for when your knot is getting ahead of your head.” 

A gentle tap on his shoulder made Castiel jump and whip around, nearly smacking Pamela in the head when his arms pinwheeled. 

“Woah!” She ducked out of the way of his flailing limbs. “Easy there, tiger. Didn’t mean to scare yah.” 

“Sorry,” Castiel gasped. “You’re just…very quiet.” 

"I get that a lot.” She held up a leather loop with a buckle on one side and a rubber ball directly opposite it. “This is the most modest one we have. Good for first timers. Just a simple ball gag. You gonna bite?” Pamela smirked. “Pun not intended.” 

“Sure.” Castiel took the gag from her and placed it on top of the restraints cradled in his arm and, on second thought, added the antipheromonic to the pile. “I think that’s it.” 

Pamela led him to the register and rung his items in, totaling at $195. Castiel bit his bottom lip and pulled out his wallet, handing her the credit card he and Dean shared and wondering how they were going to pay for this. They barely had enough to begin with- bills, food, and gas eating up most of their paychecks- and a two hundred dollar purchase wasn’t going to help. Maybe he could work a few more shifts at the library or pick up a second job at the café… 

“Is that it, angel?” Pamela asked, sliding his stuff into a bag. 

“Yes, thank you.” Castiel slipped the bag off the counter and took the credit card back before saying a quick goodbye to Pamela and walking out, not stalling for idle chatter, though she looked disappointed when he left as suddenly as he did. It was only a few blocks back to the apartment, but it was already dark and Castiel just wanted to get home and curl up on the couch next to Dean with a big bowl of popcorn and watch bad movies. 

A few of the cars driving by honked at Castiel, but he ignored them. He knew what he looked like, walking by himself alone at night, but he had a knife hidden in his shoe and he wasn’t worried. In the time he’d been here, he’d already been approached by a few knotheads, but they all backed off when he flipped the blade and told them he was happy with his partner, thank you very much. 

As he started to pass shadier parts of town, Castiel felt his confidence slowly slip away. Bright red dots marking the ends of burning cigarettes peppered the blackness of the night and a few catcalls followed him when he walked past alleys, coming from shadowed figures. He started to walk faster, tucked the bag closer against his side so it wouldn’t impede his motion as much, and kept his head down. 

A sudden hand on his shoulder make him stumble, and then that hand was slamming him up against a wall and pinning him there, a second one tightly grasping his hip. Sharp nails dug into his hipbone and Castiel sucked in a breath through his teeth when they broke his skin, bringing blood welling up around them. 

“Well,” a voice drawled. “Look who survived his first heat.” 

Castiel glanced up into the face of his attacker. Their features were half obscured by darkness, but the street lamp illuminated blood red lips that were quickly curling into a predatory smile. 

“Meg,” Castiel said stiffly. 

“Hello, Clarence.” She leaned forward to run her nose along his jawline, scenting him. “Oh, you and Dean have been having fun, haven’t you?” 

“Let me go.” It wasn’t a plea, it was a demand. 

“Not a chance. There are _bad_ people who might take _advantage_ of you, all alone at night like this. Wouldn’t want you…” She nipped at his neck “Getting hurt.” 

Castiel froze, heart beating furiously. Meg obviously was aware that Dean had claimed him, so what was she doing? He glanced around, looking for someone, _anyone_ , but even if there was someone he doubted they would help him. Pinned to the wall like this he couldn’t reach his knife, and while he might be as strong as her, Meg was an alpha, and- by the smell of her- pumped full of post-rut hormones. Better not risk it. 

“Dean and I are mated now,” Castiel said, mentally wincing when he heard the slight tremors in his voice. “You can’t-” 

“Mated don’t mean unavailable, pretty boy. Not in my book.” She glanced down at the bag clenched tightly in Castiel’s hand. “Watcha got there?” 

“Nothing,” he said, too quickly. “It’s nothing.” 

Meg reached into the bag and pulled out one of the handcuffs, arched eyebrows raising even higher when she recognized them for what they were. 

“You’re one of _those_ , huh?” With a rough hand, Meg grabbed his jaw, forcefully tilting his head side to side and inspecting it in the light of the streetlamp. “I have to admit, you’d look good in leather.” She ran her thumb over his lips. “And so pretty with blood dripping from your mouth.” 

“Not for me,” Castiel said defensively, jerking his head out of her grip. “They’re for Dean. He’s going into a rut.” A sudden idea struck him. “If he finds out what you’re doing to me, he’ll tear you apart.” 

“Then let’s make sure he doesn’t find out,” Meg said, sing-song. Her hand traveled down from Castiel’s jaw and chest until she reached the hem of his shirt, slipping her fingers underneath. Castiel turned his face away, expression stony, and forced himself not to react. His best chance was to wait for Meg to let her guard down and run. The apartment was only around the corner, he could make it. 

“Maybe I should tie you up,” Meg whispered, leaning close so her words blew hot across the shell of his ear. “Hang you from the light so everyone sees what a worthless slut you are. Bet a couple more alphas would find you before morning, fuck you senseless. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“Go to hell.” 

“Already there, Clarence.” She licked his scent gland. “What do you think Dean-o will do to you when he smells all that alpha seed?” His breath hitched, terror closing its claws around his throat at the thought, and Meg laughed. It was a cold, hard sound. “Yeah, that’s right. Bet he’ll throw you out onto the street again, or lock you up like the omega bitch you are.” 

Castiel felt his heart skip a beat. He had never seen Dean get angry, _really_ angry, but he knew from experience that angry alphas were ruthless. His own family had proven that to him, did things he couldn’t have imagined they were capable of. Never to him, thank his lucky stars, but once you witnessed that kind of rage, you never really forgot it. 

"He wouldn’t do that,” Castiel said, but even to his own ears he sounded unsure. 

“Maybe, maybe not.” Her hand came up to close around his throat, making his breathing labored and painful. “Maybe just a collar for your pretty little neck. Show everyone who the little whore belongs to.” 

“I don’t _belong_ to him,” Castiel spat. His resolve to stay cool was snapping. He was tired of putting up with alphas and their rolist stereotypes. “I belong to myself and no one else.” 

Meg whistled. “Feisty. I’ve had feistier.” 

“You just don’t get it,” Castiel scoffed. “I can’t be _broken_ , I’m not a _thing_ to be worn in. I-” 

“No, you’re an omega. Your place in life is at the feet of your master, obeying their every whim. The sooner you accept that fact, the better this will be for you.” 

Castiel opened his mouth to ask what, what would be better for him, but then he was turned around so fast his forehead slammed into the wall with a dull crack, blinding pain shooting down his spine. He choked out a broken sob and felt tears well in his eyes at the excruciating throbbing, but he didn’t give Meg the satisfaction of seeing him cry. 

“See, bitch?” she said. “You’re not even fighting it. You know you want it.” 

“I don’t,” he said through clenched teeth. 

“You do, just admit it.” Her finger snaked out of his shirt to fiddle with his fly. “I can hear your heart, Clarence, it’s beating like a drum.” 

“You’re not the only one who can hear it.” 

Both Castiel and Meg’s heads whipped around at the new voice, Meg’s face annoyed at the intrusion. 

“Busy here,” Meg said, irritated. “Go find your own alley.” 

“Let him go,” the figure demanded, and Castiel recognized that voice. “I won’t tell you twice.” 

“Dean,” he said, voice breaking over the syllable. Relief washed over him and he shoved at Meg, trying to force her off his body, but she was solid as stone. 

“Make me,” she spat. 

It was the wrong thing to say. 

A low growl echoed through the alley, one that made even Castiel’s hair stand on end, and Dean started striding forward, walking in and out of patches of light. He was shirtless and barefoot, wearing only sweatpants, and his skin glistened with drops of water. His eyes were stone cold, face set in a murderous look, and Castiel felt Meg’s hold on him weaken. 

It was just enough to twist out of her grasp and roll away from her, pulling the knife out of his boot in the process. By the time he had the blade clutched in his hand, held defensively out in front of him, Dean was already on Meg. 

A punch landed, then another, and another. All Castiel could make out in the half-illuminated scene were flesh-toned blurs punctured by the occasional white flash of teeth or the red splatter of blood, but he could tell Dean was winning. 

A thrumming had started to ring in his ears, and Castiel fell to his knees, clutching his forehead. He felt something wet against his fingertips and drew his hand away to hold it in the light of the streetlamp, sucking in a breath when he realized it was blood. Bringing his palm back up to his forehead, he pressed down on the wound, hoping to stem the bleeding, but it just made the pain erupt unbearably. 

Through the haze of white the pressure to his forehead had caused, Castiel saw Meg fall to the ground and scrambled backwards, throwing her arms up to shield her face as Dean’s bare foot kicked at her. When he missed, Dean pounced on Meg and closed his broad hands over her throat. Her eyes bulged and she tried to knee Dean and throw him off her, but he wasn’t moving. 

“Dean,” Castiel called, forcing himself to his feet and hobbling over to him. He grabbed onto Dean’s arm and tugged him away from the fallen woman, blinking furiously as he tried to get his eyes to focus. “Dean, leave her, she’s not worth it.” 

“She hurt you,” Dean snarled, upper lip peeling back and eyes blazing with fury. “She tried to _take_ you from me, Cas.” 

“I know, Dean, but you’re in a rut. You’re not thinking right.” 

Dean frowned and blinked, then looked around as if he was just realizing where he was. His gaze landed on Castiel and his face softened, eyes loosing some of their anger. 

“Go,” he growled at Meg. “But if you _ever_ touch Cas again, if you even fucking _look_ at him the wrong way…” He snatched the blade from Castiel hand and waved it in front of her face to prove his point. 

Meg didn’t argue. As soon as Castiel convinced Dean to take a few steps back, she bolted up and ran as fast as her battered legs could carry her. Dean watched her go with narrow eyes, staring at the place she had disappeared for a few seconds after she was gone before turning to Castiel, rage melting into a look of pure concern. 

“Cas, you okay?” His hands ran gently up the sides of Castiel’s head, eyes darting over his face. “Do we need to go to the hospital?” 

Castiel sighed and leaned into Dean’s touch, willing his racing heart to calm. “I’m fine, Dean.” 

“You sure? You might have a concussion. I can call and ambulance or w-” 

“Dean.” Castiel encircled Dean’s wrists with his fingers and tugged lightly, pulling his hands away so he could look up into his face. “I’m fine, I just need to ice it, that’s all.” 

On the way back to the apartment, Dean insisted on carrying the bag and walking directly next to Castiel, an arm encircling his waist. He snapped his teeth at anything that moved- a low, warning growl vibrating in his throat- and pressed light kisses to Castiel’s neck, cheek, anything he could reach on every other step. 

When they got to the café, Adam was on the phone, hand cupped around the speaker, but said a quick word and slammed it down when Dean and Castiel walked in. 

“Dean!” Adam’s voice was reprimanding as he stalked out from behind the counter, arms crossed. “Where have you been? You shouldn’t be out in your state! I called Sam, he-” 

His voice died in his throat when he saw Castiel, arms dropping from his chest and eyes widening almost comically. Then, his gaze narrowed and he marched up to Dean, stopping mere inches from him and jabbing a finger into his chest. 

“You bastard, did you do this? You’re _disgusting_. After all Sam taught you, I never thought-” 

"He didn’t hurt me, Adam,” Castiel interrupted, stepping between the two brothers when Dean’s lip started to curl back. “If he hadn’t come to get me, I would’ve been a lot worse for the wear.” 

Adam’s gaze remained suspicious, but he nodded and took a few steps back. 

“If he tries anything, just… give a shout, okay? I’ll sleep in back tonight.” 

His words were ominous, but Castiel nodded and herded Dean towards the door, stepping to block his view when he tried to look back and snarl at Adam. 

When they stepped into the apartment, Dean immediately dropped the bag next to the door and opened the freezer, pulling out the ice tray and twisting it over the counter until a few cubes fell out. He returned with a plastic bag full of ice and sat down on the couch, pulling Castiel down with him and cradling him against his chest, head resting on his shoulder. 

"How did you find me?” Castiel asked, wincing when Dean touched the ice to the forehead 

Dean whined in apology, instead pulling one of the cubes out of the bag and sliding it across the wound. Blood and ice cold water trickled down Castiel’s face. “I knew something was wrong when I got out of the shower and you were gone. I walked outside and I could smell your fear and I… I couldn’t find you at first, all I could think about was what might be happening to you. If I had gotten there sooner…” He closed his eyes, shaking his head like he wanted to rid himself of the memory. 

Castiel pulled Dean’s hand from his forehead and gently kissed his knuckles, bloody from the fight, before pressing his cheek to the back of Dean’s hand. Water dripped from between his blackened fingers, still curled around the ice, as his steadily spiking rut fever melted it at a rate faster than normal. It dribbled down to slide across the seam of Castiel’s lips. 

Once his the flesh numbed, and Dean replaced the single cube with the whole bag, nose pressed to Castiel’s temple and breath fanning out over his skin. This was a fragile moment, Castiel realized, curled here on the couch with dull pain spanning his forehead and his palm resting lightly over Dean’s heartbeat. He curled his fingers, closing his hand around Dean’s pulse, and shur his eyes. _Ba-boom. Ba-boom. Ba-boom_. Castiel could almost imagine his own heart matching tempo as they breathed each other’s air and soaked in each other’s heat. 

As the pain slowly melted away, Castiel became aware of the subtle darkness to Dean’s scent, the beginnings of his rut showing itself in his oils. Castiel shifted farther into his lap, dislodging the ice on his forehead and, sure enough, felt something hard and in the general vicinity of Dean’s crotch poking his thigh. A familiar tingle started to race across his bones, collecting low in his abdomen 

“Cas,” Dean breathed, legs twitching when Castiel swung himself around to straddle Dean properly. His hands landed on Castiel’s waist, thumbs rubbing small circles through his shirt. 

Green eyes tracked Castiel’s face as he leaned forward and down, nose slotting next to Dean’s. There was something in his eyes that bordered on…what? Adoration? Love? Awe? Whatever it was, it was too powerful, and Castiel had to cast his eyes down to Dean’s lips instead, watching as he tongue darted out to lick them in a flash of wet pink. 

At first their kisses were chaste, soft, feather-light things that were mere brushes of lip against lip. Castiel found his hands in Dean’s hair, carding back and forth, the short strands tickling the flesh between his fingers. When he tugged, just lightly, Dean moaned softly and deepened the kisses, fingers curling tighter into his waist. 

But that wasn’t nearly enough, not even close, so Castiel slid his tongue across the seam of Dean’s lips, asking for entry. It was something he hadn’t done yet, introduce the promise of something more. It was always Dean who decided when he wanted to take the next step. It wasn’t that he was afraid or that Dean was controlling, it was just that doing that required control of the situation, and Castiel always found himself hanging on for the ride, grabbing at Dean’s shoulders or clawing at his back and trusting Dean to get him there. 

To his dismay, Dean pulled back from the kiss. Castiel fell forward a little in the absence of his presence, subconsciously chasing the warmth, and felt his stomach drop. Had he done something wrong? Did Dean not like assertive partners? He felt panic start to claw at him, the first threat of an attack in days. Dropping his gaze, Castiel tried to rectify his mistake by tipping his head back and curving his spine in a clear submissive gesture, offering the full front of his body to Dean. 

Instead of lowering his teeth to Castiel’s neck, though, or slipping off his shirt, Dean hooked his thumb over his chin and brought his head down to eye level again. 

“We can’t,” he said softly, brushing his fingers over Castiel’s forehead for emphasis. “You’re hurt.” 

“I’m _fine_ , Dean.” He ground down on Dean, reveling in the hitch in his breath the friction caused, and said with a suggestive smirk, “You need more attention than I do.” 

Dean frowned and tightened his grip on Castiel’s hips to still him. “Don’t make this about me, Cas. I’d rather it’d be me and my hand than you doing something you don’t want to just to make me happy.” 

Castiel rolled his eyes. His concern was endearing, but it was also frustrating. He was always so _careful_ , like Castiel was made of glass and spun sugar and would break under the slightest pressure. Granted, sometimes it appealed to Castiel’s omega instincts, but other times he felt belittled. 

"I want it.” Castiel grasped Dean’s hand and brought it around his body and down the back of his jeans until he could feel the slick between his legs. “Just as much as you.” 

After Castiel let go of his hand, Dean’s other hand slid down his pants, kneading and squeezing his cheeks as they continued kissing. That was all they did, though. Kiss. Dean seemed reluctant to do anything else, completely at odds with what Castiel thought his rut would be like. He expected to be bent over the nearest surface and fucked until he couldn’t walk, not treated like this. It was disorienting and almost worrying. He hoped it was just the start of Dean’s rut hormone production that was making him like this. 

It was only when Castiel’s thighs started protesting the position that Dean moved, as if he had sensed Castiel’s discomfort. He partially rose and lowered Castiel until his back was to the couch, never breaking the kiss. 

Dean’s skin was still slightly damp from his shower and goosebumps erupted in the wake of Castiel’s fingers as he drew nonsensical patterns on his skin. His hands were hot where he peeled off Castiel’s shirt, sighing into his mouth when their bare skin slid together. 

Rain started had started to tap on the window by the time Dean pushed into Castiel, patterning gently in the background behind their loud breaths and the rushing blood in their ears. Dean’s fingers ghosted over Castiel’s skin, as if testing to make sure he was real, and he kissed him without tongue between harsh breaths and whispered words of worship. 

This, this was new. This was not sex, not fucking, this was making love. What else could you call the way Dean rocked into him oh so slowly with no intention of reaching climax, just to bring pleasure and savor being this close, so far wrapped up in each other that you couldn’t tell where one of them began and the other ended. How else could you label the way Castiel’s heart seemed to swell when Dean exhaled praises into his hair and stroked his thumbs over his cheeks, dropping promises into his scalp on every breath. _I’ll never leave you_ , he murmured, his own way of saying something Castiel knew he couldn’t put into words, again and again and again until Castiel’s heart beat the phrase and his lungs breathed them. _I’ll never leave you_. 

And when Castiel came, shuddering against Dean’s body, Dean held him close and smoothed his hair away from his forehead until he stopped shaking. 

“Dean,” Castiel arched up against his chest and squeezed on the pressure inside of him, tightened his legs around Dean’s waist to pull him deeper than he thought possible. “Come for me.” 

Now it was Dean’s turn to gasp and lock up, jaw dropping open as he spilled inside Castiel’s body and filled him with warmth. 

Boneless and sated, they collapsed, content to curl next to each other and drink in the heady scent of their fading arousal. When the sweat on their bodies started to cool and the coldness pricked their skin, Dean flipped them as gently as he could with the knot still binding them together tucked Castiel against his chest, pulling the blanket on the back of the couch over them and burying his face in Castiel’s hair. 

They were asleep in seconds. 

By the time Castiel woke up the next morning, the sun was shining through the window and the rain had stopped. He stretched, wincing as his joints popped, and yawned. 

“Dean?” Confused, Castiel patted the space where Dean had been last night, and found it cool, completely void of body heat. 

A plummeting feeling gripped Castiel’s stomach. His rut wasn’t over yet, and only something either very alluring or threatening could make an alpha leave their mate during a rut. In fact, he was surprised he hadn’t woken up with a knot in his ass and teeth locked down over his jugular. 

“Dean?” 

Castiel dragged himself off the couch- wrapping the blanket around him because they had forgotten to turn the heat on last night and it was _freezing_ \- and started to search the apartment. Dean wasn’t in the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room, or the bedroom.  
“Shit,” Castiel muttered. “Shit shit _shit_.” The only explanation was that he left, for some reason or another. Hopefully he had been coherent to at least put pants on before he went out. 

There wasn’t anything Castiel could do but go out and look for him and hope he was still somewhere in Lawrence. The police station had a separate cell block for rutting alphas, that’s where he would look first. 

The bedroom was even colder than the living room, so Castiel rooted through his bureau drawer in search of warm clothes, but today was supposed to be laundry day. The only clean thing he could find that wasn’t riddled with holes and oil stains was a pair of Dean’s old sweatpants, so he pulled those on and threw open the closet to find a sweatshirt or a jacket or something to cover his chest. 

As soon as the doors opened, Castiel yelped and jumped back. Crouched in the corner of the closet sat Dean, limbs tucked into his body and shivering uncontrollably. When Castiel made a noise, his head shot up and he stared at him with wild eyes. 

“Dean, what are you doing in there?” Castiel asked, dropping to his knees and reaching for him. 

Dean shook his head and whimpered, pressing further against the wall to escape Castiel’s touch. 

Frowning, Castiel withdrew his hand and sat back on his heels. Dean should be craving physical contact, aching to be with his omega, not shying away from him. 

Unless?... 

Unless he didn’t want him anymore. 

Castiel licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry and sticky with fear, and tried again. 

“What’s wrong, Dean? Are you sick?” 

Dean’s breathing visibly increased, chest rising and falling faster than Castiel had ever seen, and he shook his head again. A deep flush had risen up his chest and bloomed over his face, darkening over his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

Shuffling forward made Dean turn his face away, hiding against his shoulder, but Castiel shushed him and slid a hand onto his knee. His skin was freezing to the touch and Castiel hissed in sympathy. Alphas’ temperatures increased slightly during their ruts, but nothing close to what Castiel had experienced, and he knew Dean must be cold if not numb by now. 

“You’re freezing! Come on, get into bed, at least there you’ll be warm.” 

Dean still refused to budge. 

Castiel sighed. If he didn’t get Dean warmed up soon, he _would_ get sick. 

Resorting to desperate measures, Castiel stripped off the sweatpants, leaving him completely naked, and dropped his head back, offering Dean his neck. Dean made a pained sound in the back of his throat, but still didn’t to move. 

Okay, then, extremely desperate measures. Clambering up onto the bed, Castiel laid flat on his stomach and scooted down until his hips were even with the edge of the mattress, allowing his feet to fall to the floor. He spread his legs and ran a hand between his cheeks, stretching his fingers apart to expose his hole. 

Dean groaned and shuffled forward, but as Castiel looked over his shoulder, he stopped and looked up at him guiltily, like a child that had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

Heaving another deep breath, Castiel let his head fall back down to the mattress, embarrassment tingeing his cheeks pink at the knowledge of what he had to do next. There wasn’t anything to be ashamed about, it wasn’t like this was his first time being naked around Dean, it was just so... what was the word? Degrading wasn’t right, but neither was humiliating. Strange, just strange, to use his body like this, as a tool. 

Tucking his elbows under his chest and curving his lower back in, Castiel brought his knees up onto the bed and spread his legs shoulder-width apart in a position he knew showed off his ass and the smooth lines of his body. He whined and lowered his head submissively. _Presented_ himself. 

In less than a heartbeat, Dean was on top of him, mounting him faster than Castiel’s brain could process. But Dean was still cold to the touch and Castiel had to warm him up. He couldn’t do that on top of the sheets. 

Worming out from under Dean was easier than Castiel had thought it would be. He launched himself off the bed and darted out of the room, chuckling nervously when he heard Dean’s frustrated growl and heavy footfalls following him out. Castiel swung around the couch so when Dean padded into the living room and started to approach him, Castiel walked around in a circle, staying directly opposite. 

With Dean standing, his erection was exposed, purple with blood and hanging heavy between his legs. Castiel winced and wondered how Dean had been able to restrain himself for so long. The list of questions he had to ask him once he rut was over was getting longer by the minute. 

Dean’s eyes were growing narrower and narrower, increasingly irritated by his mate’s evasiveness, and then he launched himself over the couch, making a grab for Castiel. But Castiel was fast, and he darted out of the way just in time for Dean to topple to the floor, hands closing around nothing. 

He made it halfway to the bedroom before he was pinned to a wall, Dean’s breath hot on his neck and dick poking insistently between his cheeks. 

“Not yet,” Castiel said, gasping as the blunt head started to press into him, and elbowed Dean in the gut. He dropped down and slid backwards under Dean’s legs, then leapt to his feet and dashed into the bedroom. Flinging himself onto the bed, he snuggled under the blankets, and waited. 

He didn’t have to wait long. A few seconds later, intentionally soft footsteps ventured into the room and circled the bed. A low growl accompanied the dipping of the mattress, then the sheets were torn back and a cold body pressed up behind Castiel, connected them from shoulders to feet. 

Castiel barely managed to pull the blankets up over them before Dean had grabbed his hips and shoved into him, a combination between a purr and a growl rumbling in his chest. 

Teeth scraped against the back of his neck, dipping when they ran over the scar of Dean’s claiming bite, and nails dug into his hipbones. Castiel hissed and grabbed Dean’s hands, forcing them away from the half-moon indents he had created over the cuts Meg had made. 

“Careful, Dean,” Castiel snapped. To his surprise, Dean stilled and whined, hands releasing their death grip on his hipbones and skimming lightly over his flesh instead, nuzzling at the back of his neck. 

When he didn’t immediately start thrusting again, Castiel looked over his shoulder, and saw Dean looking at him imploringly. It suddenly dawned on him that he was waiting for Castiel’s permission to continue. His chest swelled with pride and love, Dean had to have the utmost trust in him if he was conscious of his wishes during a rut. 

Castiel grabbed his leg and pulled it up, allowing Dean to sink deeper into him, and buried his head in the pillow. 

“Go ahead, Dean.” 

Dean made a garbled, happy sound and started pistoning his hips again, somewhat slower than before. Castiel grimaced and bit the pillow. Even with the slick produced in response to Dean’s rut pheromones, it was still painful. He was a little bit sore from last night and without prep or proper foreplay, he was still tight. This wasn’t for him, though, so he relaxed his muscles and stayed quiet. 

When Castiel felt Dean’s knot start to swell, he was still soft and uncomfortable. As Dean came inside him with a moan that sounded suspiciously like Cas, Castiel tipped his head to offer the side of his neck for Dean to sink his teeth into. 

Seconds after Dean’s cock twitched for the last time inside him and stopped filling him with come, Castiel felt his breathing even out into sleep-deep breaths, exhales blowing hot and damp across his skin. Dean was still hot and thick inside him, Castiel could feel his muscles clenching around the intrusion, but he forced himself to close his eyes and find comfort in Dean’s warmth. 

Castiel slept restlessly, dreams spasmodic and random. More than once, he realized he was in the dream world and tried to wake himself so he could restrain Dean before he awoke, too, but then his lucidity slipped away and he tumbled down the rabbit hole again. 

When he did snap into consciousness, it was because of a sharp burst of pain. 

Castiel tried to jerk away from it, sleep-addled brain reacting on instinct, before it occurred to him that the pain was _inside_ of him, a persistent prodding and scrape of friction from too-dry movement. 

“Ow,” he gasped, and tried to push himself up, but a heavy weight restricted his movement, and he realized that Dean had started to mate with him again while he slept. This time, there wasn’t even slick to ease the way, just the half-dried semen from his previous orgasm, and it _hurt_. 

“Dean,” Castiel pleaded, pressing up against his chest with all his might, but the alpha was a solid, unmovable force. “Dean, it _hurts_ , please!” 

Dread curled low in his abdomen where arousal should be as Dean growled, low and threatening and enough to make Castiel stop talking and shudder, fear dancing up his spine right next to sharp pain. Dean was too big, too rough, and Castiel felt wetness prick the corners of his eyes before he blinked it away. It could be worse. It could be like this every time Dean took him, he should be thankful. 

A choked sound worked its way out of his throat when Dean made a particularly harsh movement and wetness exploded inside Castiel, a tangy, metallic scent filling the air. _Blood_. Castiel’s fingers curled in the sheets and he hid his face in the mattress, trying to ignore the added sting every time Dean’s cock brushed over the tear inside him. 

“Dean,” he whispered, words muffled and useless. “Please.” 

Castiel couldn’t contain a sob when Dean knotted him and spilled hot and smooth inside of him, come finding all the cracks and ripping them open again like needles. And Dean didn’t fall asleep his time either, stayed on top of Castiel and locked his jaw over the back of his neck so he couldn’t move. 

Castiel didn’t know how long he stayed like that, eyes stinging and body aching, but after what seemed like an eternity there was a knock on the door. 

“Cas? Dean? You guys okay in there?” 

Dean’s head whipped up and he snarled, nostrils flaring as he smelled another alpha. 

“Adam,” Castiel breathed, hope blossoming. He was probably coming up to check on them before opening the café. “Adam, help!” 

A hand shoved his head down into the pillows, extinguishing any other words he might have said. Terror latched onto his heart as Castiel’s lungs started to burn with lack of oxygen, head swimming and vision prickling with black. 

The crash of a door slamming in made Dean’s body tense against Castiel’s, veins flooding with adrenaline as this second alpha approached him and his omega. 

“Dean.” Adam’s voice was stern and harsh. Dean just gnashed his teeth and covered Castiel’s exposed torso with his own in an obvious claim. 

“By the door,” Castiel managed to get out. “Restraints.” 

Then, with a final swirl of brilliant technicolor, Castiel’s world faded to blackness. 

When he came to, Adam was sitting on the end of the bed, twirling a spoon nervously between his fingers. 

“Thank god,” he said as Castiel opened his eyes. “I was afraid I was gonna have to try mouth to mouth.” 

“What happened?” Castiel asked. He tried to sit up, but stilled when the movement of his hips caused a red hot knife of pain to slice through his body. Adam winced and glanced away. 

“Dean’s chained up downstairs in the broken fridge. I figured that was the strongest place in this dump.” 

“How did you get him off me?” 

Adam scoffed. “I’m an alpha. All I had to do was growl and touch you and he was trying to rip my face off.” 

“Oh.” 

There was a moment of tense silence that neither were willing to break, the only sound the spoon tapping against Adam’s knuckles. A long gauge trailed up one of this arms and Castiel didn’t have to ask to know that it was from Dean. His gut crumpled with guilt. If he had been preemptive and restrained Dean when he had the chance, Adam wouldn’t have had to intervene and Dean wouldn’t have had to get locked in a fridge and they could have been spared this whole embarrassing situation. 

“Well,” Adam said, standing up. “I guess you wanna shower now, I’ll just…leave and, uh, pretend this never happened.” 

Castiel nodded. 

Adam left with an awkward half-wave. When he was gone, Castiel got out of bed and hobbled to the shower. The hot water felt amazing on his bruised body and he tried not to look at the pink water running down his legs or feel the semen and blood dripping out of him. The stinging pain was dull now, more of a throb than a blade, but Castiel still took a few Aspirin before going back to the bedroom. 

The sheets were torn where he had gasped them and stained with red and sticky white so he stripped the mattress and dressed it with new sheets before crawling in between them and snuggling into the softness. All he could smell in the fabric was detergent and softener, nothing of Dean’s scent, and pulling the case off his pillow and pressing it to his nose offered only the smallest hint of his smell, more shampoo than anything. For now, though, it was enough to lull him to sleep and soothe his hurt. 

Castiel didn’t do much after waking up from his nap. For once, he was thankful for his omega body, quick to recuperate after intrusion, and busied himself with housework while he waited for the day to pass. 

It was midnight by the time Castiel finished cleaning the apartment, but he still wasn’t tired, so he made himself a cup of black coffee and sat down in front of the TV. Gabriel’s show, which he had watched as much as he could, was on, and he settled back against the cushions to watch the reruns. 

He couldn’t bring himself to focus, through. Instead, his brain decided to take a happy trip down memory lane when he spotted a bruise around his wrist where Dean must have grabbed him while he was sleeping. He knew it was just his hormones talking, but in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for Dean, going through a rut alone in a metal box. 

“No,” he said, pressing his palm to his forehead, then to his crotch when blood started going south. “No, no.” 

He finished his coffee and shut off the TV, staring moodily at the blank screen until he sighed, shook his head, and gave in. 

The café was dark and quiet, Adam locked up hours ago, and Castiel didn’t even bother being quiet when he slipped into the kitchen. The fridge wasn’t hard to find, it was a metal door that took up half the opposite wall, and he peeked inside through the small window. 

Dean’s wrists were bound tightly above his head, the chain connecting the two cuffs trailing up and over a bar in the ceiling so he couldn’t get them closer to one another to untie himself. His stubbled jaw was stretched around the rubber ball of the gag, saliva dribbling out from the side of his mouth as he glowered at the ceiling, yanking on the cuffs. If the way his wrists were rubbed raw was any indication, he’d been doing that for a while. Every once and a while, his hips twitched forward, seeking friction that wasn’t there. 

The door creaked as Castiel pushed it open and Dean’s head snapped around, his hands stilling in their resolve to free themselves. When he realized who Castiel was, Dean lurched forward, trying to get closer to him, and made a spluttered sound when his shoulders nearly jerked out of their sockets. 

“It’s okay, Dean,” Castiel said. He lowered himself gently to his knees in front of Dean and wrapped his fingers around his cock. “I’ll take care of you.” 

Dean’s eyes rolled back into his head when Castiel spread the pre-come weeping from the head down his shaft and started to jack him off, twisting his hand at the top of the stroke and thumbing over the slit just like he knew Dean liked. He used his blunt nails to softly scrape over the bundle of nerves under the head and traced the thick vein on the underside with the tip of his middle finger, grinning whenever sounds slipped past the gag. 

In less than a minute, Dean's head fell back and his abdomen tensed. Castiel dropped his head to sheath his engorged cock in his mouth, and that was all it took for Dean to shoot off down Castiel’s throat with a muffled shout. He swallowed as much as he could before pulling off, a few last spurts landed across his face, and patted Dean’s thigh. 

“Better?” 

Dean made a garbled noise that could’ve been a _yes_ , but it also could have been a _mushroom_ , so Castiel stood and unhooked the gag, pulling it gingerly out of his mouth. 

“Much,” Dean slurred. He rolled his head back around, eyes shining with a clarity that hadn’t been there for the past twenty four hours, and opened his mouth. “Cas-” 

Castiel laid a finger across Dean’s lips, silencing him. “Don’t apologize, Dean, it wasn’t your fault.” 

“It _was_ ,” he insisted, tugging harshly on the restraints and shaking his head. “I hurt you and you asked me to stop but I _didn’t_ and I-” 

Castiel silenced him with a peck to the lips before pulling back and using his shirt to wipe the come off his skin, nose crinkling when all it did was smear. Dean made a face at the taste and stuck out his tongue. 

“Ew, dude, I didn’t need to taste my own spunk.” 

“Mm. Consider it retribution.” 

“Ha ha.” 

Castiel thought for a moment, eyes trailing down Dean’s exposed torso. 

“What?” Dean glanced down, a worry line between his eyebrows. “What’s wr-” 

Before Dean could finish his sentence, Castiel dug his fingers into his sides and wiggled them, causing a Dean to dissolve into very unmanly giggles that- when discussed later- he would fervently deny. He blew a raspberry on his stomach, a reminder of the first time they had slept together, and felt sympathetic laughter bubble in his own chest. 

“Cas…oh my god…” Dean tried to curl in on himself, face turning red and mouth falling open in silent laughter. “You fucker, lemme….” 

By the time Castiel stopped tickling him, Dean was hanging limply by his arms, muscles twitching with aftershocks. 

“Not fair,” he gasped. 

“Totally fair.” 

Castiel unhooked one of Dean’s hands, catching his arm when it flopped down, and tenderly moving his wrist in circular rotations to stretch it out. The skin was red and enflamed, and Castiel made a mental note to get some cream out of the bathroom as he unchained the other one. 

Dean pulled the restraints off the ceiling and took the gag from Castiel once his other wrist was free, moving his jaw back and forth and opening and closing it several times to move his stiff muscles. 

“Dean?” 

“Mhm?” 

“Why were you hiding in the closet?” 

Dean’s hand stopped where it was rubbing his jaw joints and he glanced sideways at Castiel, shame in his eyes. 

“I knew what was happened and I-…I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

“Is that why you refused to come out, too?” 

“Yeah.” 

Castiel scoffed. “Why didn’t you just chain yourself up?” 

“Dude.” Dean gave him an incredulous look. “I barely knew my own name and you wanted me to work _these_ things?” He twitched his wrist, jangling the chains between the handcuffs. 

“A valid point.” 

“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight,” Dean said as they trudged back up the staircase to the apartment. “And the next night, and probably the night after that.” 

“You don’t have to-” 

“Yes, I do,” Dean interrupted. 

Castiel shrugged. 

“And you get first shower.” 

“Now you’re just kissing ass.” 

“Yup.” 

After that, things went back to normal. November passed smoothly. Castiel enjoyed his work at the library, Dean enjoyed his work at the station and Bobby’s, they enjoyed each other, and Charlie enjoyed Castiel’s company during Dean’s rut. 

The cuffs and gag were put to good use. Castiel was glad he had chosen leather instead of metal. 

When the cool breezes of November changed into the biting winds of December, Castiel started to come down with something. He had a poor immune system and often got sick during his childhood, so he told Dean it was just a cold and went around his life as normal. No need to fuss over something so small when they had bigger things to worry about. 

But when he started going to bed at eight every night and refusing offers of anything sexual, Dean started to get worried. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dean asked one morning, hovering over Castiel while he ate his toast. 

“Yes, Dean,” he sighed. He didn’t have time for this. He needed to be at the library in ten minutes. Holding his toast between his teeth, Castiel wrapped himself in his jacket and pulled on a pair of gloves. 

“Do you want me to drive you? It’s cold outside, I don’t want you to get even sicker.” 

“I’ll be fine.” Castiel liked his morning walks, they invigorated him. The cold against his cheeks and nose made him feel alive. 

“I’m driving you,” Dean said, as if he hadn’t even heard Castiel, and grabbed his keys and coat. “Come on.” 

Castiel rolled his eyes and followed Dean to the car. He had a sneaking suspicion that the offer hadn’t come so much from concern as it had Dean’s desire to drive _everywhere_. During one of his nights off when he was picking up a shift at the garage, he learned that Bobby had somehow gotten his hands on a ‘67 Chevy Impala. Dean had come home later that night sitting in the beat up driver’s seat and smiling like he was on top of the world. 

The thing was a bucket of rust when he first parked it, but Dean was persistent, and in just a few days, it ran as smooth and looked as perfect as it day the had been made. He practically salivated every time he looked at it now. It was getting a little ridiculous. 

On the drive over, Dean sang along to Led Zepplin, taking advantage of a red light to pound out a particularly bizarre drum solo that had Castiel grinning and shaking his head. 

“Have fun today,” Dean said when they arrived, leaning over to kiss Castiel’s cheek. 

“Likewise.” 

Charlie greeted him at the door, taking his coat and handing him a box of tissues to blow his nose with. The air inside the library was warm and smelled like books and dust. It was a thick, blanketing smell that always brought a small smile to Castiel’s lips. 

“How the missus?” she asked. 

“Worried about me,” Castiel shrugged, pulling a few tissues from the box before handing it back. 

“I know the feeling,” Charlie said as she took her place behind the main desk, dropping the tissues next to her keyboard. “Gilda won’t stop bugging me about my, and I quote, ‘mental health.’” She learned forward a little and whispered, “She thinks I need to stop larping.” 

Castiel nodded solemnly, but he felt the corner of his lips twitch. Charlie was always a little bit ostentatious and tended to exaggerate. “Outrageous.” 

“I know.” 

Leaving Charlie to her desk duties, Castiel pulled the return cart from the back room and heaved a few books into his arms. The other librarians thought he was crazy for always going for reshelving duty first, they saw it as tedious, but he liked it. It was a simple, methodical job that gave him time to think. 

By the time he was finished with all the books, it was half past noon. Kids ran past him, giggling and waving stuffed animals and puppets from the children’s room around and adults ran their fingers across the spines of books, searching for interesting titles. People rarely asked him questions, the visitors they had were usually regulars, so he slid in behind the checkout desk next to Charlie and logged onto one of the computers. 

"I can take those for you, ma’am.” The women in line smiled and handed him a pile of Percy Jackson books, a favorite of his when he was younger. 

“How old is your child?” he asked as he rang the books out. 

“Twelve,” she said. “She’s going through a mythology phase.” 

“Ah. I phase I never really outgrew.” Even as he matured, Castiel retained an interest in deities and legends. He suspected it was partially because of his family’s obsession with religion- one who had named all their offspring after angels- but he had never gotten the chance to explore his curiosity. If he ever had enough money to go to college, he would probably choose a theology major. 

“Have a nice day,” Castiel said, handing her books to her. “Your daughter will enjoy these. Can I help the next person in line?” 

A melody of beeps and clicks filled the hushed room as Castiel and Charlie checked out book after book after book. It was nearing Christmas vacation and parents and children alike were itching to get their hands on some good literature before the holiday when their attention would be devoted to Christmas festivities. 

As much as he tried to ignore it, the nauseous feeling deep in Castiel’s abdomen stirred and stretched, climbing up his body and making him shift uncomfortably and press and hand to his stomach, frowning. He was starting to regret the toast. 

“You okay?” Charlie asked, glancing over in the middle of checking out _A Wrinkle in Time_. “You don’t look so good. Kinda…pale, and-” 

“I’ll be right back.” 

A few indignant huffs followed Castiel as he fled the main room, feet shuffling as the two lines merged into one. In the few steps in took him to reach the bathroom, Castiel had doubled over, bringing a hand to his mouth as well as pressing harder on his stomach and resisting the urge to vomit. 

Luckily, the bathroom was empty, and Castiel didn’t even bother to close the stall door before falling to his knees. What little he ate for breakfast came back up again along with bile that stung his throat and nose. Tears and mucus dripped down his face, hot against his chilled skin, and slid off his chin to creep down his neck. 

“Castiel?” The bathroom door swung open. A pair of jingling, red and green elf shoes could be seen under the stall wall, hesitantly shuffling closer. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Castiel croaked, sitting back on his heels and ripping some toilet paper to wipe his mouth and face with. 

Charlie peeked around the corner, worry lines creasing her face. She cringed when she saw what had happened and Castiel flushed the toilet sheepishly, standing on wobbly legs. 

“I’m fine,” he insisted when she reached out to steady him. 

“You sure? You can take the rest of the da-” 

She was interrupted when Castiel suddenly bent over the toilet again, choking as his stomach clenched and he dry heaved. A few drops of bile slid off his tongue, but there was nothing else left to throw up. 

Charlie murmured soothing words as Castiel groaned, rubbing small circles on his back and keeping a hand on his shoulder for him to lean in to. 

“Sorry,” he gasped when he managed to take a few breaths, convinced he was done this time. 

“I’m taking you home,” Charlie said firmly, helping him to his feet and pulling on his so he leaned against her. “You’re sicker than a dog on Easter.” 

“Can’t.” Castiel bit his bottom lip when his stomach rolled again, but managed to swallowaround his twitching throat muscles. “Dean has the key.” They had been meaning to get him one, but had never really gotten around to it. Dean always picked him up from work so there had never really been a need. 

“My place, then.” 

She left no room to argue. 

Charlie’s house was not what Castiel had been expecting. He had always pictured winged armchairs arranged in a semi-circle around a crackling fireplace and walls lined with bookshelves filled with well-read classics, lovingly arranged in alphabetical order by title and author and the last word of the first page and Charlie’s favorite character and whatever else Charlie might organize by. 

He was very wrong. 

When Charlie opened the door to her home, she had to kick it a few times so the pile of stuff behind it moved far enough for them to squeeze through the crack. 

Castiel’s jaw dropped and he momentarily forget his nausea. It was messier than Dean’s apartment had been when Castiel first saw it. The books were there alright, in the numbers Castiel had envisioned, but instead of being placed carefully on polished bookshelves, they were strewn haphazardly around the living room in piles taller than him. Sweatshirts and socks and other assorted pieces of clothing were draped over every surface next to tea stained mugs, dried bags still inside. 

A quick sweep of the room revealed not a single speck of dust; aside from the obvious mess, the place was remarkably clean. And there seemed to be a method to the madness. Charlie picked her way through the disaster site as if it was second nature to her, humming horribly off-tune and running a hand lovingly over the books. 

“Sit down,” Charlie said, tossing a worn blanket from a couch Castiel initially hadn’t seen because of the books impeding his vision. She patted the spot she had cleared and disappeared behind another mountain of literature. “I’ll make us some tea.” 

Grimacing at the shift in angle, Castiel sank onto the couch and let his head fall back. He could hear Charlie banging around in the kitchen, grumbling to herself occasionally, before she gave a triumphant whoop and water sloshed around. A splatter of water against a pot was followed by the sound of chopping and boiling. 

The smell of honey and ginger tinged the air and Castiel sniffed appreciatively. He drank coffee because it was convenient and cheap- Adam bought the beans in bulk- and Dean didn’t really care for tea, but he wouldn’t pass up a good cup of tea when given the chance. 

Charlie reappeared bearing two steaming mugs, handing one to Castiel and dropping a spoon in it before plopping on the ground in front of him, casually leaning back against his legs. 

“Fresh honey ginger,” Charlie said, lifting her mug. “One hundred percent guaranteed to stop nausea in its scummy tracks.” 

Castiel sipped the tea and smacked his lips a few times, considering the taste. It wasn’t bad, though he did usually prefer something sharper and more refreshing, like mint or green. 

While they finished off their tea, Charlie pulled a book from one of the piles near her and flipped to a random page, running her thumb along the side of the page as she read. The book’s cover was so worn and it’s pages so dog-earred that Castiel couldn’t tell if it was a thesaurus or _Fifty Shades of Grey_. 

“ _Harry Potter_ ,” Charlie said when she saw Castiel looking. 

Castiel gestured to the Hermione bobblehead balanced precariously on a tower of mugs. “I take it you’re a fan?” 

She grinned almost apologetically and ducked her head before snapping her book shut and forcefully setting her jaw. She adopted a look Anna had donned many times when she was about to impart a valuable life lesson on him. 

“So,” she said. “Why did you come to work if you were sick?” 

Castiel shrugged and swirled his spoon through his tea, watching a few escaped shreds of ginger dance. “I’ve been sick for a while. It’s just started to get bad around now.” 

“Ouch.” Charlie patted his knee consolingly. “Bad cold?” 

“Not like any cold I’ve had, but I haven’t died yet, so I’m assuming that’s what it is.” 

Cocking her head, Charlie shifted up onto her knees to bring her closer to Castiel’s eyelevel. “What do you mean not like any cold you’ve had?” 

He shrugged again. “It’s just my stomach. Not a headache or anything.” 

“Just nausea?” Charlie repeated. Her words were cautious and, in response, Castiel’s stomach squeezed, only this time it was with dread. 

“Yes. In the mornings. Why?” 

“And how long has this been going on for?” 

“Two weeks.” 

“Oh boy.” She slumped back against Castiel’s shins and pulled the hair elastic out of her bun, sending her wild red hair tumbling down her back. “Oh boy. This is awkward.” 

“What?” 

“Um…okay.” Rubbing her palms nervously down the length of her thighs, Charlie muttered to herself a few times under her breath before shaking her head, spitting something that sounded a lot like _fuck it_ , and turned back to Castiel. “Are you and Dean having unprotected sex?” 

Castiel blinked, momentarily thrown by the question. “What? What does that have anything to do wi-…Oh.” His felt his eyes widen. “ _Oh_.” 

“Well?” 

“I-…yes, but I’m on birth control. _And_ heat suppressants.” 

“What did you do about ruts before you met me? Rut hormones can void the effects of suppressants and stuff as easily as overriders.” 

“Before-…Oh god.” Castiel’s mouth started to dry and his head spun lightly at this new possibility. Dropping his mug with a clatter, he touched his forehead to his knees and breathed deeply, fending off the panic clawing at his chest. 

“Castiel?” 

He flapped a hand at her to silence her, waiting a few seconds before raising his head again. 

“Our first rut together,” he breathed. “Dean forgot and I didn’t get him restrained and he-…then we…oh god.” 

“Calm down.” Charlie picked herself up and sat beside Castiel, pulling him in for a hug. She ran her hand up and down his arm and _shh_ ’d until he stopped hyperventilating, able breathe normally again. “Have you taken a test?” 

He shook his head. 

“Come on, I have some in the bathroom.” 

Castiel frowned and pulled back to look at her face. “Why?” Charlie and Gilda were both females, and though new technology offered a chance for female pairs to have children together, it was only possible if at least one of them was an alpha; Gilda and Charlie were omegas. Charlie wasn’t the unfaithful type. 

“Hey, I may not need them, but it’s always good to have a few kicking around. Just in case.” She winked and Castiel relaxed, letting himself be helped up and led to the bathroom. 

\+ 

Slowly but surely, a positive materialized on the end of the stick, dye filling out the lines that formed one little symbol that would change Castiel’s life forever. He continued to stare at it long after it was a dark as it was going to get, trying to find some other explanation. It was like trying to catch smoke. 

Charlie was waiting anxiously outside, wringing the end of her shirt between her hands, and opened her mouth when Castiel walked out. Whatever she had been about to say died on her lips when she saw his face and she gave him a small, sad smile. 

Without a word, Castiel walked to the door and shrugged on his coat, zippering it with far more care over his abdomen than he usually would. 

“Wait.” Charlie touched his arm when he reached for the doorknob. “What are you going to do now?” 

“I don’t know,” he said softly. 

“Are you going to keep it? Or…” She made a pinched, sympathetic face. 

Glancing down at his stomach, Castiel dropped his hand from the doorknob and slid it over his stomach instead. Even through his winter coat and shirt, he imagined that he could feel…something. 

“I can’t.” It wasn’t the right time or the right place or the right circumstance, but as much as Castiel just wanted this whole thing to go away, he _couldn’t_. He really couldn’t. Knowingly destroying his child would damage him, heart and soul, and he wasn’t sure he could live through that. Even though he had discovered it only a few minutes ago, he already loved the baby. Simultaneously cursing and praising his omega instincts, Castiel reiterated, “Charlie, I _can’t_.” 

She nodded. “You gonna tell Dean?” 

_Dean_. 

Just thinking about it made Castiel’s heart speed up. Dean didn’t _want_ kids. Whenever they walked past the playground, Castiel would point at and comment on how cute the children were, laughter forming a cloud in front of their rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes. Dean would smile and pat his hand and say _maybe a kitten first, Cas_ , but Castiel knew it was just code for _Never_. 

And babies cost money. Diapers, bottles, medicine, formula, doctor’s appointments, clothes. They were just barely scraping by now, Castiel highly doubted they could afford another mouth to feed. 

He didn’t know what Dean would do. He was just so unpredictable. One minute he was cool and collected, the very picture of calmness, and then the next he had steam pouring out of his ears and was yelling at the top of his voice. Some of that could be contributed to his alpha tendencies, but most of it was just his personality. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, his erratic behavior made him the interesting person he was, like a puzzle Castiel couldn’t entirely figure out, but in this case, he wished he had a better grasp on Dean’s perspective. 

“No,” he said. If he didn’t miscarry, maybe then, but not now. Not when he couldn’t know for certain if Dean would accept him with open arms to kick him out to fend for himself. Being on the streets in heat was terrifying, Castiel couldn’t imagine what being on the streets _pregnant_ was like. 

Charlie sighed. “Cas-” she paused, like she was trying to find the right words. “Dean, he…I’ve known him for a while. He’s temperamental and hotheaded but he’s sweet. He’s got a right to know. I know it’s your decision, but he’s the father.” 

Castiel nodded, fingers fiddling with the zipper tab on his coat. 

“Can-” He cleared his throat, suddenly finding it swollen and aching. “Can you drive me home?” 

Charlie gave him a long look filled with so many different emotions Castiel couldn’t decipher which was which. 

“Of course.” 

Dean still wasn’t home, but Charlie had a few tricks up her sleeve, and in a few minutes the previously locked door swung open. Charlie gave him a hug and a command to call her if he needed _anything_ and take as many days off as he needed. Then she left and the apartment was silent. 

Castiel turned on the TV, but it was more for background noise to fill the quiet pressing in on his eardrums. He found his hands sliding without his command from the arm of the couch to rest on his stomach, fingers splaying out and rising with each of his breaths. 

Nine weeks. They had spent Dean’s rut together nine weeks ago. Castiel had been carrying a life inside of him for sixty three days, unaware of the child his own body was protecting. He thought of all the times something could have happened- when Dean cuffed him, when they wrestled on the floor, when he used his stomach to help him carry an armload of books- and shuddered. 

The jingle of a key in the door made Castiel turn around. Dean walked in and met Castiel’s eyes, a worried look on his face. 

“Cas?” He came over to the couch and sat down beside him. “You okay? Charlie called and said she brought you home cause you weren’t feeling good.” 

“I’m fine,” Castiel said. “Just wanted to take a day off, that’s all.” 

Dean opened his mouth, about to say something, but then closed it again, brows furrowing in confusion. He leaned forward, inhaling deeply as he ran his nose along Cas’ jaw, then pulled back with a frown. 

“You smell different.” 

Castiel’s stomach plummeted, landing six feet under the floor. He had never considered that his _scent_ would change along with his body. The chances of Dean recognizing the shift in his smell for what it was were slim, but the threat was still there. If he helped a pregnant woman or omega at the station, he might connect the two. 

Castiel swallowed. “Good different or bad different?” 

“I dunno, just different. Kind of…fuller? Deeper?” 

When Castiel didn’t continue conversation, Dean looped his arm around his waist and pulled him to lean against his side. Dean was warm and smelled like coriander and leather and Castiel buried his face in his neck, hugging him back tightly. Even if he didn’t know what he was doing, Dean’s touch and concern were comforting. 

“You sure you’re okay, sweetheart?” Dean asked softly, words blowing through Castiel’s hair. “You can tell me if you’re not, I won’t be mad.” 

Castiel shook his head fervently. “Can we go to bed now?” 

“Now?” Dean craned his neck to look at the clock in the kitchen. “It’s only five.” 

“I know. I’m tired.” 

He could feel Dean looking at him, calculating him, but he didn’t look up. If he did, Dean might be able to see his in his eyes what he hadn’t said. It wouldn’t be hard to read the bend of his back and the dip of his shoulders under the weight of the unspoken words that swelled the air if you knew what you were looking for. 

“Okay.” 

That night, Castiel slept under a cloud of silent lies with a steadying arm wrapped around his waist. 

Despite Castiel’s terror, life marched steadily on. 

He found himself at work most mornings, drearily reshevling books and avoiding Charlie as much as he could. The library became a place of escape from the tense atmosphere of the apartment where Castiel flinched away from Dean’s touches and offered a forced smile when he tried to get him to laugh. Castiel knew he was distancing himself from Dean, but it was for the best. When he found out, which he would undoubtedly do, neither of them would be as affected. In the meantime, he could spend as much time with Dean as he could if he hid the truth, and that meant not allowing Dean to touch him and feel the new shape of his pregnant body or smell the difference in his scent. 

The day before Christmas, Castiel was tidying up the children’s book in preparation for being closed during the holiday when an older beta approached him, her white hair cut in a sharp bob just below her jawline. 

She greeted him with a smile. “Congratulations, honey. When are you due?” 

The blood drained from Castiel’s face. “When am-…what?” 

"Your baby, honey.” The woman’s grin widened. “I have six of my own. I’d know that smell anywhere!” 

“I-…” Castiel swallowed. No use denying it. Softly, he said, “Six and a half months.” 

Her smile widened and she reached out with a small, wrinkled hand to pat his arm. 

"Children,” she sighed, a wistful look clouding her eyes. “Such a blessing.” 

“Mrs. Tate? Sheila?” 

A man in blue scrubs hurried out the corner, letting out a sigh of relief when he saw the old woman. 

“This young man was just telling me about his family,” she said, then turned to Castiel. “Weren’t you, Charles?” 

“I’m so sorry,” the man said, taking her gently by the arm. “We were just getting Mrs. Tate some books for her granddaughter to read while she visited for Christmas. Did she bother you?” 

Castiel blinked at the woman, who glanced down knowingly at his stomach. He followed her gaze to find that one of his hands was balanced on the slight bump below his ribs. He ripped it away and shoved it in his pocket instead. 

“No.” 

“I’m glad.” He turned to walk away, leading Mrs. Tate with him. “Happy Holidays!” 

“Happy Holidays,” Castiel said. 

He was locking up by the time he realized his hand had once again settled on his abdomen. 

Castiel awoke to Dean curled around him like a barrier of warm flesh, arms wrapped tightly around his waist and nose buried in the hair at the base of his skull. Each breath rustled the strands, tickled his flesh, and blasted the back of his neck with warm, damp air. 

It was a position Castiel often woke to after they had sex, when they had fallen asleep before the knot deflated enough to be pulled out. But there had been no sex this time, hadn’t been for weeks. Now it was just Dean protecting Castiel even while he was unconscious, shielding him from potential danger and prying eyes just as his ancestors had. 

Smiling, Castiel gently laid his hands on top of Dean’s, resting just above the swell of the baby. Dean hadn’t noticed yet, it was easy to pass this new development off as one too many servings of ice cream or three too many glasses of water. 

Castiel’s changed preference of clothing had escaped Dean’s perception as well. His skin was growing sensitive, naturally leading him towards softer materials that would line a nest for padding and swaddle a baby for warmth. He had taken to wearing Dean’s old shirts, worn and supple from age and so many washings. They had the added bonus of falling straight over his stomach and sides to hide his rounded figure and the places where the hard angles and sharp juts of his body had melted into smoother lines. They also smelled like Dean, which offered Castiel comfort throughout the day. If he couldn’t be around Dean all the time like his instincts wanted him to be, screamed at him to stick close to the protection of his alpha, then he could have the second best thing. 

Plus, Dean- like all alphas- had a possessive streak, and seeing Castiel wear his clothes in such an obvious claim made him smile and press dry kisses to the back of Castiel’s neck. 

Dean snuffled in his sleep, sending a chill down Castiel’s spine, and squeezed just a little bit tighter. The pressure set off a chain reaction, a rumble that streaked down Castiel’s body to his feet and ricocheted back up again, settling as a churning in his stomach. 

Castiel blanched, throat tensing. He tried pulling Dean’s arms from around his waist but Dean huffed and tightened his grip, thinking someone was trying to steal his omega from him, and Castiel felt his teeth bare against the back of his skin. His eyes bulge with the effort of not retching. 

“Dean,” Castiel hissed, wiggling as he tried to escape Dean’s iron grip. “Dean, let me go.” 

A low growl rumbled through Dean’s chest and Castiel instantly relaxed in response, muscles loosing their strength in a subconscious consoling reaction to his alpha’s irritation, and Dean pulled him impossibly closer. 

Castiel’s stomach gurgled and clenched and that was _it_. Dean could wake up furious and seething for all he cared, he needed to go to the bathroom _now_. 

“ _Dean_.” Castiel pulled his arm back and far as he could and jabbed it backwards into Dean’s chest. 

In less than a heartbeat, Dean was awake and towering over him, propped up on his hands and knees and snarling, teeth and eyes startling points of white in the darkness. One of his hands was pressed down over Castiel’s chest and his knees were pinning Castiel’s thighs to the bed, keeping him immobile as the threat was analyzed. Castiel stared up at him, daring to look him straight in the eye, and waited for the hand that had appeared around his throat to loosen enough for him to speak. 

It took Dean a few seconds to come to the realization of what he was doing, then he settled back down onto the mattress bashfully, pulling his lips back down to cover his teeth. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, suddenly looking more like a sleepy hedgehog than a rabid bear. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing, I have to pee, I’m fine.” The words came out in a hurried jumble as Castiel leapt from bed and dashed out of the room, sprinting down the hall and slamming the bathroom door behind him. 

He only threw up one this time, an improvement, and kneeled in front of the toilet afterwards, rubbing his fingers over his heavy eyes. The strain of keeping the truth from Dean was showing itself in his appearance. Multiple people had told him he looked tired, run out. With dark smudges under his eyes and the pale, waxy complexion of his skin, he couldn’t blame them for mentioning it. He hadn’t slept well in days and the combination or morning sickness and stress kept his stomach empty nearly all the time. He had lost weight when he should be gaining it, his body was starting to resemble the state it had been in when he first met Dean. 

Dean knocked lightly on the door, knuckles dragging heavily, sleepily, on the wood after each tap. “Cas?” 

Hurriedly, he flushed the toilet and ran his hands under the water, washing away the evidence. 

“Too much coffee,” Castiel said as an explanation when he walked out of the bathroom, greeted by Dean’s shadowy silhouette. 

“You don’t drink a lot of coffee.” 

“Well, I drank to much this time.” 

“Cas.” Dean threw out a hand and stopped him on his way back to the bedroom. “Do we need to talk?” 

“About what?” 

The silhouette’s shoulders shrugged. “Anything.” 

“No, I need to sleep.” 

The blankets were cool when they slid back into bed, so Castiel allowed Dean to press close and wrap his arms around him, grateful for the warmth. He did, however, slide his arms up further, not wanting to risk Dean dropping his hands down with suggestive intentions only to be met by the firm bulge of his stomach. 

“‘Night,” Dean mumbled, leaning over to kiss Castiel. 

Castiel turned his head away so Dean’s lips landed on his cheek instead, afraid that he would taste bile and lies if he kissed him on the mouth. The frown that stretched Dean’s lips was visible even in the darkness, but he said nothing. 

The next day, Christmas, came and passed without event. There was eggnog (that Castiel refused to let Dean spike) and some Christmas songs on the radio, but no tree or presents. Castiel’s Christmases had always been stiff, starched events with day long sermons and the exchanging of very few gifts, none of which appealed to his childhood self. A ten year old does not enjoy peeling back wrapping paper to find another Bible or school supplies or socks. 

He would rather not awaken a past life and Dean never had Christmases, so they stayed firmly unfestive together. 

Three days after Christmas, however, was a day of much more importance. 

Castiel was stripping down for a shower, tossing his clothes into a heap in the corner of the bathroom, when a flash of red caught his eye. Frowning, he dug through his clothes again, searching and stretching, until he pulled out his boxers. A stain the size of his palm was blossoming over the fabric. 

Dropping the boxers, he reached around himself and swept his fingers between his thighs, blood freezing when he felt a warm wetness that was too thin to be slick. Sure enough, his fingers came around red and smelling like death. 

Not even stopping to wash his hand, Castiel pulled on a new pair of clothes and fled the apartment, breath coming in short, harsh pants and heart beating so wildly everyone he walked past on the street must have heard it. Castiel waited at the bus stop for exactly six minutes and twenty four seconds for the bus. He sat in the front seat when he got on. 

“Does this bus go past Third and West?” he asked breathlessly. 

The bus driver, an aging black man, nodded. “It’s the second stop on the route.” He glanced at Castiel, eyes sweeping over him- his disheveled clothes, windswept hair, and the dried blood on his fingertips. They paused on the latter, nervously flicking over the peeling red. “You in a hurry, son?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, sit tight, we’ll be there in a few.” 

The bus driver’s few turned out to be much different from Castiel’s few, especially now that he was aware of the slow drip of blood leaking from him. He was in such a hurry that he almost forgot to pay the fare when he got off. 

The building was short and brick, with large windows protected by thick, navy blue curtains. Not what Castiel had pictured a pregnancy clinic to look like. 

The inside was even less expected. It looked like a regular waiting room, with a rough, pattered rug and armchairs scattered haphazardly around. A lego table sat collecting dust in the corner, dejected and faded. Castiel couldn’t imagine that many people that already had children came here. 

The receptionist looked up when Castiel came in, a look of mild surprise on her face. She was so small that only her torso was visible through the window separating the office from the waiting room, head looking top-heavy since her large, eager eyes had no legs to balance them out. “Can I help you?” 

“I-…uh…” It suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea what to say. Help, I’m bleeding from my ass, I think I’m miscarrying? Why was he even here? They couldn’t do anything for a miscarriage. 

“Are you meeting your partner?” the woman asked when he didn’t answer, head disappearing as she ducked out of sight, shuffling through papers. “Because we don’t have a scheduled appointment until-” 

“I’m pregnant,” Castiel blurted, feeling his cheeks and the tips of his ears catch on fire even as he said it. 

The receptionist slowly rose back up, shock coloring her face. Only about twenty percent of omega males were actually fertile, and even less decided to carry children, so it was no wonder she was stunned speechless. He waited impatiently for her to speak, shifting from foot to foot. 

“O-oh. Oh. Well, um, I can just…get this and…uh” she fumbled with a clipboard, dropping the pen twice before she managed to slide it under the clip. “And you can just, er, read it and…you know… fill out. And sign.” 

She watched him as he took the clipboard and sat down, staring for a few more seconds before disappearing with the quiet click of a door opening and closing. 

The paperwork was short and simple, basically saying that this was a donation and grant run clinic and nothing the doctors couldn’t be held completely accountable for anything they did or said. The part that interested him the most was the free portion of it, about how patients were not obliged to pay but donations were appreciated. It was the whole reason he’d come here. Not only could he not afford a real doctor’s appointment or hospital bills, but explaining that away to Dean would be downright impossible. 

“You the guy?” 

Castiel glanced up, pen halfway through his signature, to see a woman in a white coat standing in the doorway, arms crossed over a thick folder at her chest. 

“What?” 

“The knocked up omega?” 

Castiel flushed and finished his signature which, due to his shaking hands, had turned out to be little more than a scribble. 

“Yes.” 

“I’m Dr. Harvelle. Follow me if you want to live.” She turned on her heel, white coat swishing dramatically behind her, and disappeared. 

Castiel was sitting frozen in his chair, unsure if he was actually supposed to go with her or if it was a joke, when she stuck her head back into the waiting room and cleared her throat. 

"Now you follow me.” 

“Oh.” Castiel stood and handed the clipboard back to the receptionist- Ms. Rosen, she said- and followed Dr. Harvelle through a long hall of rooms, all equipped with neat, shiny equipment. They were also all empty. 

“Not many people here,” he said. 

“Yeah, well, not many people are come into a free pregnancy clinic over Christmas break.” 

Castiel ducked his head. “I suppose not.” 

“In here.” 

Dr. Harvelle shut the door behind Castiel and patted the exam table, dropping onto a stool when Castiel was seated. 

“I’m assuming you already know you’re pregnant, so if you don’t need an ultrasound or birth control, what’s the problem?” 

“I’m bleeding.” 

She clicked her pen and scribbled down something in her folder. “Nosebleed bleeding or chopped-off-arm bleeding?” 

“Um, nosebleed?” 

Dr. Harvelle looked up, cocking an eyebrow. “It’s _your_ ass, don’t make it sound like a question. Cracked dame or Niagara falls?” 

“Just a little bit,” Castiel said, flushing. 

“Nosebleed,” Dr. Harvelle said slowly, saying it as she wrote it. “Conception date?” 

“October fifth.” 

“Hm, exact date. I’m impressed.” 

Castiel cocked his head in confusion. 

“I mostly get,” she adopted a high, mocking voice “‘ummmm, maybe, like, four weeks agoish?’” She shook her head and made a check somewhere. “Any pain, cramping, bloody urine or stool, or anything else that would be medically relevant?” 

“I’ve been having nausea for the past few weeks.” 

Dr. Harvelle waved her hand. “Morning sickness. Now we’ve got two options here.” She set aside her folder and crossed her arms. “I can say you’re fine, which you very well might be, or I can lift up your skirt and take a peek. You’re the patient, you get to decide.” 

Castiel took a deep breath. “What are the chances of something being wrong?” 

She shrugged. “Fifty-fifty. You’re twelve weeks in, still in the first trimester, so it might be nothing, just some technical stuff that I’ll waste my time by telling you about, but you could also bleed to death within the next hour if it’s something bad.” 

“I think I’ll go with the check.” 

“Good choice. I’m a lot less liable if you die.” Dr. Harvelle tied her blonde hair back in a pony tail and made a flipping motion with her hand. “Drop ‘em and lay down on your stomach.” 

For the next fifteen minutes, Castiel buried his head in his arms and curled his toes in his shoes, trying to ignore the constant prodding between his cheeks. There was a probe involved at one point, as well as finger stuck in places that only his and oil stained fingers had been before, and it took only a few seconds for Castiel to decide this was the most humiliating experience of his life. 

To her credit, Dr. Harvelle didn’t laugh or do anything inappropriate as her horrible beside manner had suggested she might. Castiel had heard that only doctors who had done something unethical got kicked down the medical ladder to clinics, but for all her sarcasm and coolness, the doctor was very professional. She told him what she was going to do, what she was doing while she did, and what she was about to do next in terms he could understand. 

“Just an ultrasound and we’re done,” she finally said. “You can pull up your pants.” 

Grateful to have his modesty back, Castiel quickly pulled up his boxers and pants and laid on his back, hiking up his shirt as Dr. Harvelle squeezed some gel onto his stomach. He hissed at the coolness. 

“Oh yeah. It’s cold.” 

He shot her a scathing look. “Thanks for the warning.” 

Dr. Harvelle grinned as she turned on the machine and spread the gel around with the probe. “See, now we’re having fun.” 

She searched for a few minutes, brows furrowing in concentration, before turning the machine off and back on again and shaking the probe. Chuckling, she said, “Can’t be that hard to find. Thing’s two inches long.” 

This time, Dr. Harvelle tried further down, then a little to the left, then a little to the right. Omega males’ wombs tended to differ slightly in location. From what Castiel understood, a person’s role depended on how much of a certain chemical they got while they were developing. 

An XY chromosome with almost all testosterone meant male alpha, balanced testosterone meant beta, and more estrogen than testosterone meant omega. It was the same with women, except with an XX chromosome pair instead of XY. Depending on how much of each the fetus got determined the intensity of their role, and because of that, the level of estrogen omega males had dictated how large and in what place their womb would be and whether they would be fertile or not. Since almost everyone had a differently level- however minutely so- everyone’s organs placement was just different enough to be annoying. 

Judging by the difficulty Dr. Harvelle was having trying to find the baby, Castiel must have been on the lower end of the spectrum, with just enough estrogen to make him fertile. That probably meant the child would be small, too- had to be to fit in his undersized womb. Castiel wasn’t sure if he was sympathetic or jealous of the omega males who had a womb but not enough estrogen to bear children. 

“Doesn’t help that you carry sma- aha!” Dr. Harvelle grinned triumphantly and tapped the ultrasound screen. “Gotta, you little fucker.” 

Castiel’s breath caught in his throat and his fingers clenched where he was holding up his shirt when he flicked his gaze to the picture on the screen. In grainy black and white, a small form twitched and moved. The image flickered and snow flew across the screen constantly, but Castiel could easily tell where everything was- the head, the legs, the arms. 

That was a baby. _His_ baby. A paternal instinct reared inside him, raising its head and grinning broadly along with Castiel at the screen. Love and excitement raced up his spine because that was there because of him. He and Dean, together, had created this beautiful creature, had created _life_. Castiel bit his bottom lip and blinked away the tears that were blurring the edges of his vision. 

“Oh,” he said softly. 

Dr. Harvelle smiled, for once not having anything biting to say. “Yeah, that’s what most people say.” She paused. “Wanna picture?” 

She printed a picture when Castiel nodded, then shut off the machine and handed him a wipe to clean the gel off his stomach with. His hand lingered a few seconds too long over his abdomen and Dr. Harvelle cleared her throat, holding out the trash can for him to toss the wipe in. 

“So,” she said as he wrote down a few more things in her folder. “Your partner couldn’t make it? Or you don’t know the father?” 

When Castiel blushed at the second suggestion, she threw up her hands in indifference, the folder in one, the pen in the other. “Hey, I’m not judging.” 

“No, I just-…” Castiel paused, twirling a loose thread that was unraveling at the hem of the shirt. “I haven’t told him.” 

Dr. Harvelle’ pen stopped scratching and she glanced up. Taking in his hunched posture and ducked head, she lowered her folder and scooted half an inch forward. 

“Hey,” she glanced down at the folder to read his name, “Castiel. If you need help, I volunteer at an abortion clinic on Tuesdays. If you need…” she faded off, twirled her hand in the air, and her face softened. “You know. I can help. I know how some alphas can be and, no matter what you’re feeling right now, your safety is more important than the baby’s.” 

Castiel blinked, then narrowed his eyes “I don’t want an abortion,” he said defensively, spreading his fingers across his stomach as if that could protect the growing life inside. 

The folder was tossed onto the counter as Dr. Harvelle crossed her arms. Castiel stared right back, gaze just as defiant. Impressive to hold eye contact with someone who just spent fifteen minutes shoving objects- including their fingers- up your ass. 

“If you want the baby, why haven’t you told the father yet?” 

Why hadn’t he told Dean yet? That list could go on for miles, stretching into the horizon and circling the world countless times over. 

“He doesn’t want a child.” 

Dr. Harvelle shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. You would’ve told him.” She dropped her arms, sighed. “You’re afraid, aren’t you?” 

Castiel didn’t say anything. 

“Listen, kid-” 

“I’m seventeen years old.” 

“Yeah, I saw it on your form. Now listen, kid, I’ve seen a lot of people come through here. Most of ‘em are around your age with the same situation. Father doesn’t know, they didn’t plan on it, what have you. But,” she leaned forward. “Do you know how many I’ve met who actually want the baby?” 

Castiel stared at her and waited for an answer, unsure where she was going with it. 

Dr. Harvelle lifted a finger. “One. And I’m looking at him right now.” 

“I’m the _only_ one?” Castiel couldn’t begin to fathom how someone would want to destroy their child, couldn’t being to fathom how they even _could_. He supported people making their own choices, of course, but he could never make that specific choice himself. 

“The only one. Which means either you’re a sick son of a bitch who impregnated himself with his own sperm so he could sell the baby on the black market as an unfertile sex slave or you really love whatever guy did this to you. I’m gonna to guess you’re not a child sex slave breeder so that only leaves us with one option.” 

“You really think I should tell him?” Castiel asked softly. 

“Trust me, honey, knowing for certain is better than suffering through his alone not knowing.” 

Dean had never lied to him, it was true. So he knew that if he did tell him, he would definitely get an honest answer. And if Dean found out on his own, or Castiel finally broke down, or something else happened where he discovered the baby indirectly, Dean would never trust him again. The chances of getting thrown out if that happened were less likely if he just…said it. 

After a minute, Castiel nodded. “Okay.” 

“You’ll tell him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good.” She slapped the folder shut and stood, tucking it under her arm and the pen behind her ear. “Do you have a ride?” 

He shrugged on his coat. “I took the bus.” 

“It’s getting late, I can call a cab if you want.” 

Castiel made a vague gesture with his hand, brushing away any concern. “I’ll be fine.” 

Ms. Rosen was talking on the phone as Castiel left, but she covered the speaker with her hand and said goodbye to him. Dr. Harvelle watched him go, her folder against her chest and a tilt to the angle of her head. 

On the bus ride back, Castiel’s heart was beating so hard he felt like it was going to break out of his ribcage. He was going to tell Dean. Tonight, or tomorrow? Tomorrow he would be refreshed after a night’s sleep and that might make it easier. But, on the other hand, he might loose his confidence. And he doubted that the knowledge of what was going to happen in the morning would permit him to get some- if any- rest. 

Adrenaline filled his veins as he stood outside the door to the apartment, listening to Dean pacing inside. Castiel had left without any explanation and Dean was probably worried sick. Taking a deep breath, Castiel steeled himself, collected his nerves, and stepped into the apartment. 

Dean stopped pacing as soon as the door swung open, then, after a moment’s hesitation of shock, strode up to Castiel and grabbed him by the biceps. 

“Where were you?” he bellowed. His face was red, a vein was popping in his forehead, and his eyes were wild and frantic, darting between Castiel’s like they couldn’t look at one place for more than a heartbeat. 

“I…” 

He burst into tears 

Collapsing against Dean’s chest, Castiel hid his face and clutched uselessly at Dean’s shirt, putting all his weight onto him. Dean’s hold on his arms released and his hands hovered uselessly in the air for a moment before wrapping around Castiel and crushing him closer. 

Even though there was nothing to cry about, not really, Castiel couldn’t stop. It was humiliating, ever since meeting Dean, he had cried a grand total of three times- once when they first met, once when he hadn’t slept in three days and dropped a bowl, and once when the person driving in front of them hit a dog and didn’t even stop, leaving it behind to die in Castiel’s arms. He suspected that the hormones were to blame. 

“Cas,” Dean breathed and pulled Castiel to the couch where he laid down with him, Castiel’s forehead against his chest and his head tucked under Dean’s chin. A comforting hand ran up and down his back and Dean hummed a simple tune in his ear. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he murmured, nuzzling along Castiel’s jawline. Another word formed on his lips but died as he inhaled through his nose. His whole body locked up against Castiel’s and he scented him again. 

“D-Dean?” Castiel said through his hiccupping sobs, wiping his nose on the back of his hand and noticing sheepishly that he’d left a wet spot on Dean’s shirt. “Wha-” 

“When.” 

Castiel’s breath stopped and he slowly dragged his gaze from Dean’s chest up, up, up to his face. His expression was stony and it was impossible to tell what he was thinking behind the wall that had been pulled up in his eyes. 

“What?” Castiel said. The word was carried out on a shuddering exhale. 

“When. Did. It. Happen.” 

It wasn’t a question, it was a _command_. 

Castiel’s throat was dry when he swallowed and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, making it almost impossible for him to force out more words. 

“I don’t know what you’re t-” 

“Tell me when!” Dean roared, leaping up from the couch and yanking Castiel with him. The movement jarred his body and Castiel gasped, clutched his hands around his stomach. “Now!” 

“Dean, careful! I’m-” 

“I know,” Dean spat. “You think I can’t smell it on you? It’s disgusting.” 

Castiel let out another broken sob and his knees wobbled. Leaning back on the couch arm to support his weight, he let out a shaky breath and tried to stop his heart from beating a mile so fast. 

Dean knew. And he obviously wasn’t happy about it. Castiel’s head started to spin and he bent over to put his head between his knees, not expecting the sudden pinching pressure in his abdomen when he was halfway there. A strangled noise worked out of his throat and he almost toppled over. 

Dean grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back up to look him straight in the eye- another too rough movement, far too rough. 

Protect his baby. 

He had to protect his baby. 

Castiel shoved weakly at Dean’s chest, tried to pry off his fingers, but Dean was in a _rage_. Pulling an alpha out of a rage was almost impossible, you just had to let it run its course, but his instincts were screaming at him to shield his stomach and shove at Dean. Not even his own mate came before his unborn child. 

“Dean!” 

“When, Castiel!” Any hope Castiel had left shattered. Dean never used his full name, not unless they were making love, and to hear it torn apart by gnashing teeth and flying spittle broke something inside of him. 

Castiel closed his eyes and felt a few more tears slip down his face, still struggling to get Dean off him. Dean was going to kick him out. He was going to make Castiel tell him how it happened so he could be more careful next time and then dump him out on the streets in the middle of winter like a used tissue. Castiel had no chance of finding a place to stay now. Nobody wanted a mated omega, especially a _pregnant_ one. 

He might have to take Dr. Harvelle up on her offer if he wanted to live. 

“Dean, please don’t make me-” 

“Tell me when this happened,” Dean said softly, but it wasn’t a gentle soft. It was the kind of soft that exploded seconds after you lit the fuse, the dangerous kind that destroyed anything within arms reach. “And who did it to you so I can rip their lungs out.” 

“I-…what? Who?” He thought Castiel was unfaithful? “Dean, no one touched me.” 

“Bullshit! Can you smell yourself? You’ve got alpha all over you!” His nostrils flared again and his pupils blew wider. “Who hurt you?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued, fingers getting impossibly tighter around Castiel’s biceps. “Was it Meg? I bet it fucking was,” he growled. “I’m gonna kill that bitch. Did she threaten you or me?” 

“Meg never…” Castiel chuckled, a breathless, relieved sound. “Dean, I went to  
the doctor’s. That’s why you smell an alpha. I had an exam.” 

“You…. the doctor’s?” His grip on Castiel slackened, face loosing some of its fury. 

“Yes. The doctor’s.” 

After a few beats of silence, Dean’s grip relaxed completely. 

“Oh god, Cas.” Dean’s hands slipped down Castiel’s arms, lacing their fingers together, and he leaned down to touch their foreheads together. He didn’t say it, but Castiel could feel the I’m sorry in the thumb stroking over the back of his hand. 

“Why would I cheat on you?” Castiel asked, then, scrunching his nose in disgust that was only a little exaggerated, said, “Especially with Meg.” 

Dean shrugged, grinning guiltily. “I thought she threatened you. Told you if you didn’t, she’d hurt one of us.” 

New tears pricks Castiel’s eyes, but these were of relief. He had smelled Dr. Harvelle, not the baby. Castiel was safe and, more importantly, the _baby_ was safe. 

But his rage. He had never seen Dean so uncontrollably angry. If he was that furious when he thought Castiel was a victim, was that livid around Castiel for something he didn’t even _do_ , what would he be like when he told him about something that _was_ his fault? 

“What were you going to say? Before?” 

“Before what?” 

“You were going to say something. When I pulled you off the couch.” 

Sweat exploded under Castiel’s arms and across his hairline. “Oh. Just that I’m sick. That’s why I went to the doctor’s. That’s what normal people do when they’re sick.” 

“Ha ha.” Dean still looked skeptical, but at least he wasn’t foaming at the mouth anymore. 

A few seconds of silence stretched between them, almost more deafening than Dean’s shouting. Squeezing them in his own, Dean brought Castiel’s hands up to his mouth and pressed his lips to them, brows drawn together, for several seconds before he dropped them again, shaking his head to himself. 

“I was ready to kill someone,” he said softly, eyes twitching up to meet Castiel’s own almost bashfully before dropping them back down to the floor. 

Castiel said nothing, just let go of Dean’s hands to frame his face instead, running one of this thumbs across Dean’s eyebrow. Regardless of how attractive or unattractive Castiel was, their child would be beautiful. With Dean as a father, there was no way they couldn’t be. He hoped that Dean would at least visit the child, take him or her on the weekends. Castiel was certain that Dean would be an excellent father. 

Dean encircled Castiel’s wrists gently with his fingers, looking back up to smile softly at him. 

“What’s going through your head?” Dean murmured. “You’re lookin’ at me like I hung the moon or something.” 

“I’m thinking that I want you,” he said, equally as soft. “To fuck me.” 

Dean blinked, confusion seeping across his face. He pulled back a fraction of an inch. 

“Wait. What?” 

“Fuck me,” Castiel said, crowding up against Dean and pushing him back onto the couch. He was so stunned that he actually fell backwards, still bouncing on the worn cushions as Castiel climbed onto his lap. “Please.” 

An overwhelming _need_ engulfed Castiel. He needed Dean’s hands on his naked skin and Dean throbbing inside him and Dean’s lips against his own and Dean’s whispered praises hot on his ear. He needed Dean’s naked body and miles and miles of sunkissed, freckled skin stretched out before him like a blank canvas that he could paint his love on for the whole world to see. He needed to hoard this memory, gather it up and frame it and hang somewhere he could see every day so he wouldn’t forget how much Dean had loved him. 

Castiel couldn’t have Dean for much longer, couldn’t touch him whenever he wanted, and right now he needed this, needed to be as close as they could possibly get. His body ached to be filled with Dean until they were so tightly wrapped together that there would be a permanent imprint on his soul. 

Before Dean could protest, Castiel crushed their lips together in a violent parody of a kiss, to filled with teeth and confused tongue to be a normal one. Dean jerked back, tried to say something, but Castiel just chased him and closed his lips over his mouth again, silencing whatever he had been about to say. 

The questions and doubts left a sour taste on Dean’s tongue, but Castiel soon kissed them away, licked them out and swallowed him along with his own lies. Dean’s shirt came off first so Castiel could trail gentle fingertips across his chest, goosebumps erupting in the wake of his fingers and a small noise reverberating in his throat when Castiel traced his sweet spots. 

“Cas,” Dean moaned when Castiel dropped his lips to his jaw line, licking and nipping down his neck, not caring what kind of alpha reaction it sparked in Dean. He wanted to remember how Dean shoved down his natural tendencies to let Castiel have what he wanted, wanted to burn the mottle purple bruises left in the wake of his lips into the insides of his eyelids. “Why are you-” 

“Shhh.” Two of his fingers wormed their way past Dean’s lips to muffle his words. A moment of shock rendered him still before his tongue swirled around Castiel’s fingers, tickling at the webbing in between and sucking on them. Dirty wet sounds filled the air. 

A rush of cold air flew up Castiel’s chest as Dean started to lift his shirt up, hands running across the small of his back. Castiel initially tried to shove it back down, afraid Dean would see the changes in his body, but when Dean made an inquisitive noise and tried to ask another question, Castiel tugged it off completely. It was dim and Dean didn’t have a very good angle to see at. 

Shoving Dean onto his back, Castiel unhooked his belt and tugged his fly down, tearing his jeans off and leaving them around his ankles for him to kick off. He palmed Dean through his boxers, tracing the hard, hot line of his erection and drinking the string of curses he pulled from Dean’s kiss-plump lips. 

Castiel wormed out of his own pants, discarding his boxers along with them, and sat on Dean’s lap, dick trapped between their stomachs and smearing a sheen of precome across their skin when they moved. 

Fingers prodded at Castiel’s hole and he moaned, leaning forward against Dean’s chest and shuddering when an answering moan vibrated against his skin. It was too tight and too dry but Castiel said nothing, just let out a ragged breath against Dean’s shoulder and ground back against his hand. In a way, the pain felt good. It made him feel real and safe here in Dean’s arms, reminded him that he wasn’t lost yet. 

Dean’s other hand couldn’t seem to sit still, ghosting along his back, his arms, his shoulders, through his hair. It ended up under his chin, tipping his head back so Dean could nip at the sensitive skin under his jaw and purr against his throat, the steady thrum hitching whenever Castiel squeezed down on his fingers. 

“Now, Dean,” Castiel said when the burn started to lessen. “I’m ready.” 

Dean frowned, the two fingers that had been scissoring and stretching stilling as he did. “No you’re not. It’s only been a few minutes.” 

“Please.” 

He said it in a small voice, hardly convincing, but Dean sat up anyway, displacing Castiel from his lap when he pulled of his boxers. Dean put his hand on Castiel’s hip to steady him as he settled on his thighs again, reaching down to grasp the base of his cock, and started to lower himself. 

The head of Dean’s dick had just started to push into him when he paused, licked his lips. 

Do you have a condom?” 

Dean tipped his head forward from where it had been resting on the back of the couch, frowning in confusion. “Why? Did you forget to take your pill this morning?” 

Castiel flexed his fingers on Dean’s shoulders and looked away. He knew that Dean’s semen wouldn’t hurt the baby, but it still felt wrong. 

“No.” 

Dean’s frown deepend and he pushed Castiel back to sit on his legs and ran his palms up his sides. The sudden introduction and disappearance of heat made Castiel shiver. 

“What are you doing, sweetheart? You don’t want this.” 

“I _do_ ,” Castiel insisted, trying to lean forward, but Dean pressed a hand to his chest. He wanted Dean to hold him and never let him go, he _wanted_ it, but all Dean was doing was forcing him away again. 

Look at you,” Dean said, dropping his hand to close around Castiel’s half hard erection. “You’re forcing yourself on me, Cas. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were just trying to please me.” 

The words hit too close to home- change a few of them around and it would be the truth. Castiel turned his face away. 

Thinking he had hit the nail on the head, Dean sighed. “Cas, I’m _happy_. If you don’t want sex that’s fine, I’ll find another way to get my rocks off. I’d rather be with you and not get laid than be without you and go to bars every other night just to not feel lonely for another hour.” 

Dean’s softening cock brushed against Castiel’s thigh and he glanced down at it, self loathing squeezing its way past his ribs. He couldn’t even keep Dean hard. 

Dean was talking again, something about waiting as long as he needed, but his words spluttered to a stop when Castiel wrapped his fingers around Dean’s dick and jerked roughly up, sliding his palm across the head to smear the precome that had leaked out down his shaft. 

“Fuck,” Dean choked out. “Cas…” 

“You like that?” Castiel whispered, low and dirty. He could be seductive. He could keep Dean interested. Omegas were adaptable, and he was no exception. He could be good for his alpha. “You like my hand on your cock?” 

No words were spoken this time, just a garbled sound, and Dean stared at him with shock in his eyes. That shock was quickly being replaced by lust as his pupils expanded, eating up the green and mirroring Castiel’s face back to him. 

“S’big,” Castiel purred, bowing his back and lifting his chin to offer Dean the sight of his bare chest and throat. “Bet’ll feel even bigger inside me.” 

The breathy whine Dean made was almost lost in the harsh sound of his panting as his eyes flicked back and forth between Castiel’s hand on his dick and his face, unsure of which he wanted to look at more. 

“You want to fuck me?” Castiel leaned forward to run the head of Dean’s dick across his hole, putting on what he hoped was a teasing grin when Dean bucked up, groaning in disappointment when Castiel pulled away. 

Dean gnashed his teeth at Castiel’s neck, but the intentional distance between his canines and Castiel’s windpipe meant that he had nothing to worry about, Dean was just impatient. Castiel darted forward and licked a stripe up Dean’s jugular, shuddering when Dean growled and bucked up again. 

Both men moaned when Castiel finally lowered himself onto Dean’s cock. Castiel’s head tipped back and he body went slack, the fullness of Dean inside him shooting endorphins throughout his veins and sending waves of pleasure crashing over him. 

A glorious sensation of completion filled Castiel as Dean bottomed out, blossoming across his limbs and unfurling in his fingertips and toes. The whimper that he made yanked Dean down from wherever he had been floating. 

“Cas,” Dean said, hands tightening on his hips as if he just realized what they were doing. “Shit-” 

His attempt at speech dissolved when Castiel rose back up and sunk down again, squeezing on the pressure inside of him. Dean’s hands weren’t hindering him anymore, instead they were helping him, urging the rise and fall of his body. 

This was what he had been craving- the closeness, the attuned movement of their bodies. The feeling of being so deep within someone else that your heart beats synchronize and your lungs fill at the same time. 

But it still wasn’t enough. Castiel groaned, but this time out of frustration, because it wasn’t _enough_. He needed more of Dean, more than Dean could possibly give him. 

Dean seemed to sense his irritation and slid one of his hands down Castiel’s thigh to grab his cock, jerking him off in time to his thrusts. Castiel gasped at the sudden sensory overload and stilled. There was nowhere to go, only up into Dean’s hand or back onto his dick. With a situation like that, Castiel would be coming in no time, and that was too soon, far too soon. He didn’t want to come, he wanted Dean as deep as he could be for as long as he could be. 

“Cas?” Apparently Castiel had been still for too long. “You okay?” 

“Not there,” Castiel whispered, taking Dean’s hand off his dick and sliding it up to his stomach. “Here.” 

Dean looked at him with confusion dotted among the lust on his face. There was a flush creeping up his chest and bleeding across his cheeks and sweat glistening on his brow, but somehow he still managed to look beautiful. 

“Here?” he repeated, dropping his gaze to look at Castiel’s stomach. 

“Yes. Please.” 

When Dean’s other hand joined the first, Castiel choked on a moan and dropped his forehead to Dean’s shoulder, tensing his thighs to move himself over Dean’s cock again. 

He didn’t know- he couldn’t know- what he was doing, what he was making Castiel feel, but he was gentle all the same. Dean’s hands were tender against the faint bulge of his stomach, brushing over the taunt skin there with something bordering on reverence. 

It was too much and not enough at the same time. Castiel muffled a sob within a moan when Dean’s thumbs started tracing circles next to his navel and tiped his head so the tear that slipped out of his eye dripped into the seam of his lips instead of landing on Dean’s skin. 

“More,” he whispered against Dean’s neck. There were still spaces where Dean wasn’t, cracks that could still be filled. The ridges in his ear, the crease of his thigh, the folds in his palm. “Please, Dean, _more_.” 

More to Dean meant faster, harder, deeper and it wasn’t _enough_ , would never be _enough_. Dean needed to open Castiel’s ribcage and crawl inside and write his name with stardust across his heart, he needed to slide down his throat and thread himself through his veins like an addiction, he needed to sink into the blanket of Castiel’s skin and never, ever leave. 

Castiel pressed his lips to Dean’s pulse, traced it with his tongue, scraped it with his teeth. Under a few flimsy layers of skin, Dean’s life was thrumming through his body, speeding so fast that Castiel could feel his heart pounding against his own chest. He closed his teeth around the fluttering vein. 

Dean moaned at first, hands clenching on instinct and introducing the scrape of nails to his stomach before they relaxed again. But as Castiel continued to bite, continued to skin his teeth into Dean’s flesh, the alpha started to push at him. 

“Ow! Cas!” 

Castiel didn’t listen, blocked out Dean’s yelp of pain when he finally broke the skin and a gush of hot, metallic liquid flooded his mouth. He swallowed and pressed his tongue to the bite, coaxing out more blood, and moaned, because he was finally filling with Dean, so much of him that a few drops dribbled out of the corners of his lips. 

__A hand curled in his hair and yanked him back. Castiel’s teeth were still locked into Dean’s neck and they tore as he was pulled back, spraying blood over his face and chest. Dean was looking at him with horror, keeping one hand in his hair as he clamped the other one down over his neck._ _

__“Mother _fucker_ ,” Dean hissed. “What the fuck was that for, Cas?!”_ _

__Castiel opened his mouth to say that he still needed more and why had Dean stopped, why was he not letting Castiel move, but a red trickle of blood oozed from between Dean’s fingers and dripped down his hand. Castiel’s eyes tracked the movement of the droplet as it slid down his arm and dripped off his elbow, landing with a silent plop on Castiel’s thigh._ _

__All at once, the need to have Dean everywhere disappeared, leaving only the thick taste of blood in his mouth and the unpleasant stretch of not enough preparation. In a daze, Castiel touched the corner of his mouth and brought it away, stomach roiling when he saw shiny red coating his fingertips._ _

__“I-…” What was he supposed to say? How could he even explain this?_ _

__Instead of answering, Castiel clambered off Dean’s cock with a wince and wobbled to the bathroom, collapsing down in front of the toilet and vomiting blood that wasn’t his. It tasted even worse coming back up, slimy and thick. The sting of bile and the stench of acid mixed with the smell and taste of the blood made him throw up again, and then again after that._ _

__Castiel rested his forehead on the toilet seat and cradled his stomach with his hands, focusing on his breathing and trying to forget the sensation of blood squirting into his mouth._ _

__He had to throw up three more times before he could stand and wash out his mouth. Using a handful of wet toilet paper, he scrubbed the toilet seat, washing away the smear of blood he had left on it._ _

__Dean wasn’t on the couch when Castiel came out of the bathroom, but his clothes were gone, and Castiel knew it was because he had driven himself to the hospital. He had bitten straight into his jugular and without proper medical attention, Dean would bleed to death._ _

__Castiel wondered how he would pass off a human bite on his neck. He could say he got into a fight with another alpha, the doctors would believe him. Or he could tell the truth and the police would be here to collect Castiel within the hour. Once they got here and realized it was Castiel that they were collecting, that it was Castiel who had hurt Dean, he doubted he would make it to the station without a black eye. Or worse._ _

__Exhausted, Castiel dropped onto the couch. He didn’t have enough energy to go to the bedroom, much less to put on any clothes. He just tugged the blanket down from the back of the couch and curled up into a fetal position, head cushioned against the arm of the couch and resting over what was left of Dean’s warm spot._ _

__Despite his lack of energy, Castiel should throw his clothes in a bag and run, leave the apartment before Dean came back and threw him out himself. How many people want to live with someone who nearly killed them?_ _

__But Castiel was too warm and too comfortable to move, and couldn’t keep his eyes open even if he wanted to._ _

__Sleep took mere seconds to come._ _

__

__The next morning, Castiel woke up in bed with a leg between his own and arms circling his waist. Confused, he turned in the circle of the arms and was met with Dean’s face, relaxed with sleep. Castiel slid his hand around Dean’s neck and felt a gauze bandage. It hadn’t been a dream._ _

__But, if he was in the bed, Dean must have carried him there while he slept, and his body was void of marks. If Dean wanted to hurt him, he wouldn’t have waited until morning._ _

__Cautiously, Castiel pressed a soft kiss to Dean’s cheek. He mumbled something incoherent and snuggled his face deeper into the pillow, slack eyebrows momentarily pulling together as if in concentration, but didn’t wake up. Castiel sighed and laid back down again, head tucked under Dean’s chin, and pressed his ear to his chest so he could listen to the steady beat of his heart._ _

__His eyes fell to the bureau where his pendant hung on a handle with Dean’s. They took their necklaces off when they slept so they didn’t get tangled together- something they learned to do that the hard way. Castiel touched the bare skin of his neck where it would be hanging and let out a long breath, not quite a sigh but filled with the same emotion._ _

__It had been months since he’d last heard from his family and he _missed_ them. Ever since Dean told him that Sam was a lawyer, Castiel had been considering asking him if he would help him find his disowned brothers. He’d only talked to Sam a few times on the phone and once over Skype- he lived in California, too far for frequent visits- but Castiel had no doubt that he would help him._ _

__He might even try to take Samandriel away from Zachariah. If the jury was enlightened on the kind of home Zachariah ran, they might vote in his favor. But his parents did name Zachariah as their children’s guardian and from what Castiel had seen, law usually triumphed over what was right. Plus, going to court would involve seeing his uncle again, something Castiel was not anxious to do anytime soon._ _

__And it wasn’t just his siblings that he missed, it was the quality of family. Not that Dean didn’t fill the holes in Castiel’s heart, but a person needs more than one person in their family. Especially someone like Castiel, who had grown up with a family bigger than he could count on both his hands._ _

__Well, Castiel thought as he laid his hands on his lower abdomen. His family would be one person bigger very soon._ _

__Beside him, Dean made a snuffling sound and his eyes blinked open wearily, glancing around a few times before settling on Castiel._ _

__“M’rnin’,” he grumbled, unwinding his arms from around Castiel’s waist to stretch._ _

__“Good morning.”_ _

__As Dean relaxed his back and sat up, he glanced down at Castiel, who had curled back up and was resting his hand over Dean’s warm spot. He couldn’t see the hand under the blankets that was resting on his stomach._ _

__“Wanna talk about it?” Dean asked._ _

__Castiel ducked his head. “Not particularly.” Another thing he had picked up from Dean was his problem solving. If you ignore it long enough, it’ll go away._ _

__Dean nodded. He understood. “Okay.”_ _

__Dean got out of bed and pulled on his clothes, fishing around in the drawer until he produced a stained white t-shirt shirt. He tugged it over his head and padded to the closet to get his uniform._ _

__“The force is having a New Years party, everyone’s invited. You game?”_ _

__Castiel fiddled with the edge of the sheet, considering. He hadn’t met any of Dean’s friends, but he would like to._ _

__“Yes, I think I would like that.”_ _

__Dean grinned and leaved over the bed to give him a quick kiss._ _

__“Awesome. I’m just gonna grab a quick shower before I leave.”_ _

__Castiel nodded and grabbed at Dean’s shirt, bringing him in for a longer, lingering kiss before he let go._ _

__“I’ll miss you,” he whispered against Dean’s lips. He was answered with another grin and peck to his lips, then his nose, and Dean was gone._ _

__Castiel fell asleep again to the sound of the shower and when he woke up, the apartment was empty. With a groan, he rolled out of bed, shivering when the cold air met his naked skin. Feeling lazy, he grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt and trudged to the bathroom for a shower. The mirror was still foggy._ _

__Today was Sunday, Castiel’s day off, so he took his time under the spray, massaging his scalp and thoroughly lathering the soap before he washed it off. The hot water felt amazing on his neck muscles, his head must have been in an awkward position last night._ _

__By the time Castiel finally got out of the shower the mirrors were thoroughly fogged up again and the tiles were slippery. Humming, he swiped his palm across the mirror and ran a hand through his sopping hair, pushing it back from his face. He shaved- something he only had to do about once a week- and blow dried his hair, taking the luxury of running the hot air over his body._ _

__The mirror was clear now, and as Castiel reached across the sink to put the hair drier back, he caught sight of his stomach. Still small- Dr. Harvelle had said he carried small- but definitely there. It was a miracle Dean hadn’t noticed last night or when he carried him to bed._ _

__“Hello there,” Castiel said softly, running his hands over the bump. It might have been his imagination, or just a bowel movement, but he could have sworn he felt a flutter of movement in response to his words._ _

__After Castiel dressed and ate breakfast, he wasted the day away. Normally, he liked to be productive- clean, cook, work, read, something- but today he felt like sitting on the couch eating popcorn and watching bad movie after bad movie. In no time at all it seemed, night had faded the sky outside to a deep blue and Dean was walking through the door._ _

__He plopped down beside Castiel on the couch. It failed to escape his notice that Dean sat on the side where Castiel couldn’t see his bandaged neck. “Watcha watchin’?”_ _

__“ _Sharknado_.”_ _

__“Christ,” Dean laughed. “Out of all the movies you could have chosen, you went with fucking _Sharknado_?”_ _

__“I don’t feel like thinking,” Castiel said with a shrug, offering the bowl of popcorn to Dean. “I’m in the mood to gape in horror at the bad special effects.”_ _

__Dean grabbed a handful of popcorn threw his other arm around Castiel’s shoulder. There was only a few minutes left of the movie, and when the credits started rolling Dean shut off the TV and dropped a kiss to Castiel’s neck._ _

__“How was your day?” Castiel asked, sighing softly when Dean pressed his lips against his neck again. He tipped his head back, a silent apology and plea for forgiveness._ _

__Dean scraped his teeth lightly across Castiel’s jugular, pressing down just hard enough that Castiel knew he left a red streak, but just light enough that he knew Dean wasn’t going to hurt him. The message was clear: you are forgiven._ _

__“Long,” Dean said, trailing up to Castiel’s mouth and brushing their lips together, resuming his playful attitude. “Frustrating.”_ _

__“Hm.” A shiver worked its way up Castiel’s spine as Dean’s hands crept up the back of his shirt. “And you need something to help you…relax?”_ _

__A grin spread across Dean’s lips as Castiel slipped his hand up his thigh. “You know me so well.”_ _

__At first, Castiel couldn’t think of any reason to warrant the possessiveness of Dean’s hands and the half purr, half growl that constantly rumbled in his chest until he felt nails scraping over the back of his neck, over the silvery scar left by Dean’s bite. Now that Dean bore the mark of Castiel’s teeth on his neck, it was only right in his alpha mind that Castiel should know who was the one doing the marking and who was the one being marked._ _

__Dean grabbed Castiel’s hips and flipped him on the couch, pressing him down into the cushions and kissing along the vertebrate of his neck. Castiel purred and pressed up against the touch of Dean’s hands like a cat, tossing his head back and then letting it fall forward when Dean rutted up against his ass. The slide of their bodies together created an amount of friction against his hole that was just barely there, enough to make Castiel grit his teeth and moan and push back in search of more._ _

__Not counting last night, they hadn’t had sex in over three weeks, and lust immediately flared up in Castiel. The air quickly became clogged with pheromones, both his and Dean’s, and it did nothing to help slow Castiel’s steadily growing hunger. It wasn’t the crazed, deranged desire of the previous evening, but rather something real. The familiarity of it was comforting and Castiel could almost forget all of his problems in it._ _

__Soon, Dean was pressing his whole weight onto Castiel, keeping him still as he rutted against him and licked and bit at his neck. Occasionally, he would bite down hard enough to make Castiel start, but never broke the skin. The threat was there, though, to remind Castiel who was in charge._ _

__Castiel was just starting to lose himself in the maddening tease when a tiny flutter, like the brush of butterfly wings, skimmed across his stomach. It wasn’t on the outside, though, it was _inside_ of him. There it was again, but harder this time, less like a butterfly and more like fingertips._ _

__His arousal scattered, leaving behind pure panic._ _

__Everything was so fragile and that was too much pressure for the thinness of the child’s skin and the tenderness of its bones. There were tiny fingerprints developing on the tips of tiny fingers and tiny eyelashes were growing on tiny eyelids and tiny veins were threading themselves through a tiny three inch body and it all had to be protected, handled like precious china._ _

__“Dean, get off me,” Castiel said, frantic, and pushed back against Dean’s body, though this time it wasn’t in search of more contact. Dean made a nonchalant sound against the back of his neck and simply pressed down harder, thinking it was all a game. Sometimes Castiel played the unwilling game, struggling playfully against Dean’s hold until he got him pinned successfully down, but this was not one of those times._ _

__“I’m serious, Dean, get off! Stop it!”_ _

__It wasn’t until Castiel managed to unpin his elbow and throw it into Dean’s stomach as hard as he possibly could that Dean scrambled back, wheezing and coughing. Castiel sat up quickly and breathed deeply, running his hands over his abdomen as if to check for injury through touch. The movement had stopped, and a list of everything that could have gone wrong strung through Castiel’s mind. Umbilical cord suffocation, ruptured organs, broken bones._ _

__On the other side of the couch, Dean grunted as he pressed his fingers into his stomach to test the rise and fall of his diaphragm. His hand placement almost mirrored Castiel’s and it made him feel sick._ _

__“Cas?...” Dean eyes were wide on Castiel’s hands as the smoothed over his own abdomen. “What’re you?...” He fell suspiciously silent._ _

__When Castiel lifted his head, Dean’s lips were parted and his eyebrows had risen, eyes full of shock and breathing shallow._ _

__He knew._ _

__Tears stung Castiel’s eyes and he turned away, curling in on himself and wrapping his arms around his knees as he tucked them under himself as far as he could with his stomach in the way. He didn’t want to see the anger and disgust that would cross Dean’s face, he didn’t think he would be able to handle it._ _

__The couch squeaked as Dean rose from it and the sound of sock shuffling against rug growing louder as Dean got closer. Two knees thudded against the floor as he knelt and Castiel heard the heavy exhale he let out. He braced himself for the inevitable._ _

__The hesitant touch to his shoulder made Castiel flinch, expecting something much more violent. The fingers disappeared, but when Castiel sniffed, they were back at full force, a palm cupping his shoulder and thumb stroking circles on his neck. It was strangely gentle and comforting and Castiel thought maybe Dean would go for the pity approach. Like one would break up with a boyfriend or girlfriend, as if their relationship was a thread that could be cut with the simple snip of scissors._ _

__“Cas?”_ _

__Castiel just turned his face into his elbow and squeezed his eyes shut tighter as Dean’s hands started to slide into his hair. If Dean was going to kick him out, he wanted to be dry eyed as it happened. He may be an omega but he was not a needy child, he wasn’t helpless._ _

__“Cas, are you...” Dean’s voice faded out and his clothes rustled as he shifted. Then, voice much softer as if it would make the word less potent, he finished his question. “…pregnant?”_ _

__No words escaped his mouth, but Castiel’s breath stuttered at Dean’s question, and that was all the answer Dean needed. Dean gasped softly, but not so soft that Castiel didn’t hear._ _

__There was a pause, and then, “Is it mine?”_ _

__Castiel frowned in irritation despite the despair expanding in his chest. He already told Dean he would never cheat on him, why was he reopening an old wound? “Of course.”_ _

__“Do you-”_ _

__“If you’re going to make me leave, make me leave. Don’t torture me with pointless questions,” Castiel interrupted flatly, speaking into his arm. He didn’t want to be played, he just wanted a straight answer. Dean owed him that._ _

__“Make you leave?” The genuine confusion in Dean’s voice made Castiel lift his head. Folds were creasing between Dean’s eyebrows as they drew together and his lips turned down. “Why would I make you leave?”_ _

__“You don’t want kids.” Something twisted in Castiel’s chest as he said it and he nearly choked on the sentence. He felt like his lungs were slowly being compressed, squeezing the breath out of him and leaving an empty space inside him._ _

__“I don’t want-…when the hell did I ever say that?”_ _

__Castiel scoffed. “Whenever I talked about it.”_ _

__“Cas.” Dean shook his head and rose from his knees, sitting next to him on the couch and resuming the carding motion of his hand in Castiel’s hair. “I didn’t mean ever. I just…wanted to get settled down first. Maybe get a house. You know,” he offered Castiel a lopsided smile, “a mortgage. Somewhere with a yard and a white picket fence.”_ _

__Among the dark misery flooding Castiel’s mind, a tiny pinprick of hope blossomed, poking through the blackness._ _

__Voice shuddering, Castiel said, “What?”_ _

__Dean brushed a few strands of hair off Castiel’s forehead and bent down to drop a dry kiss there._ _

__“You were worried I would kick you out?”_ _

__Castiel nodded._ _

__“And that’s why you’ve been all…” Dean gestured weakly to Castiel, unsure of how to label his behavior._ _

__Another nod._ _

__Dean sat back with the particular huff that people make when they’re in shock, coupled with wide eyes and a straight line of a mouth. There was nothing Castiel could do but wait, other than get up now and start packing, but the dot of hope inside the space where his lungs used to be was expanding, building upon itself with every passing movement of Dean’s speechlessness._ _

__“So,” Dean finally said, “The sickness and the exhaustion and the moodiness and the dry spell and the doctor’s and the bite…that was all because of this?”_ _

__Still not trusting himself to speak, Castiel nodded again._ _

__A grin of disbelief flickered across Dean’s lips and he chuckled breathlessly._ _

__“What?” Castiel demanded._ _

__“I thought…I thought it was Meg,” Dean said. “I thought you were cheating on me because I wasn’t good enough for you. Jesus, man, if I had known…I would’ve, no, I _should’ve_ pressed harder, made you tell me. Instead you had to go through all this shit because I was too fucking thick-”_ _

__“Hey.” Castiel grabbed Dean’s hands where they were rising to run through his hair. “Don’t put this on yourself. It’s not your fault.”_ _

__“I thought you were cheating on me!” Dean snapped, but the resentment in his voice was self-directed. “Even when you told me you weren’t. I should have trusted you. God, I’m such a dumbass!”_ _

__“It’s _not_ your _fault_ ,” Castiel said again. Dean had a tendency to pin everything on himself, even now when it was so obviously Castiel who was to blame. _ _

__“I’m supposed to _protect_ you,” Dean continued, oblivious to Castiel’s efforts to calm him. “You’re supposed to be able to trust me and rely on me, Cas.”_ _

__A firm press on the inside of his belly made Castiel let out his breath in an _oof_ sound, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. He let go of Dean’s hands to slide his own over his stomach, feeling movement beneath his palms. A fluttering feeling that had nothing to do with the baby settled in his chest, thrumming and alive with joy and something profoundly archaic in its proud nature. _ _

__“Dean.”_ _

__Dean rattled on, so self-abusive that Castiel half expected him to start smashing his head with a lamp._ _

__“-uck up everything I touch, I should never have claimed you, you could do so much better than me.”_ _

_“ _Dean_. _

__When Dean still didn’t stop talking, Castiel grabbed his hands and pressed oil stained fingers to his stomach, trapping Dean’s hands there with his own._ _

__Bewilderment surfaced on Dean’s face and his endless tirade stopped for a few beats, silence stretching to the horizon, until Castiel felt another kick and both their eyes widened at the same time. Castiel wasn’t sure how big his were, but Dean’s were like saucers._ _

__“Oh,” Dean said, hushed. Monologue temporarily forgotten, he scooted closer to Castiel. Their legs touched. “Is that…?”_ _

__As if in answer to Dean’s question, the baby kicked for a third time. The strength behind it was so great that Dean’s hands were jostled and Castiel struggled for air under the brief assault._ _

__Chuckling, Dean whispered, “Strong.”_ _

__“Just like her father,” Castiel said firmly, putting an emphasis on the word father so Dean would understand what Castiel was trying to say. He didn’t know how to put into words how he was eternally grateful that it was Dean took him in, Dean who he got into bed with at night, Dean’s child that he carried inside of him. No, Castiel couldn’t say it, but he felt it with a passion that he hoped Dean could see zipping along his skin and burning in his stare._ _

__Dean slipped his fingers underneath the hem of Castiel’s sweatshirt and started to lift it up, then stopped and cleared his throat._ _

__“Can I?” he asked, fingertips brushing along the taunt skin of Castiel’s stomach as he tugged on the sweatshirt to specify._ _

__“Of course.” Castiel leaned back against the arm of the couch and spread his legs so Dean could settle in between his thighs, sitting back on his heels._ _

__The drag of cloth over his skin was slow, Dean was taking his time. With each new inch of exposed skin, the awe on his face doubled until his eyes were shining fervently and the apples of his cheeks were flushed._ _

__When the entire expanse of Castiel’s stomach was bared to Dean’s eyes, he released a breath Castiel hadn’t known he was holding._ _

__“Cas,” Dean murmured, leaning down to brush his nose across the bulge of Castiel’s abdomen and touched his lips to Castiel’s navel. “My Castiel.”_ _

__The gentle touch of Dean’s fingers and lips to his stomach made Castiel sigh. He let his head fall back against the couch and slipped his fingers through the Dean’s hair, enjoying the feel of the short strands against the sensitive sides of his fingers._ _

__It was like a huge weight had been lifted off Castiel’s shoulders, leaving him floating and weightless. Everything was better than he could have ever imagined, not only had Dean allowed him to stay, but he still _wanted_ him, if his worshipping touch against Castiel’s skin was anything to go by. _ _

__The way his skin moved against Castiel’s wasn’t arousing, but it ignited bone deep pleasure that Castiel felt in his very soul. This pleasure was of the kind that you feel in your brain, an allusive, swelling feeling that sent blood to Castiel’s cheeks and heart rather than his cock._ _

__Castiel could smell the exact moment Dean switched from adoring mate to protective alpha. His toes curled when Dean growled to warn away any nearby alphas and licked a stripe up his stomach in an instinctive and obvious claim. It was a promise as much as it was a threat, though. A pledge to keep both Castiel and their child safe, well-fed, warm. A pledge that sent shivers coursing up Castiel’s spine and a needy whine tumbling from his lips._ _

__In one sweeping motion, Dean lifted Castiel and cradled him easily to his chest as he moved them both to the bedroom, gently lowering Castiel to the bed before stripping off his clothes and crawling in after him. Castiel moved to unclothe himself but Dean snarled quietly, crawling forward and peeling off Castiel’s clothes himself._ _

__“Dean,” Castiel said- more amused than frustrated- as he lifted his hips to allow Dean to slide his pants off. “I can undress myself.”_ _

__Dean silenced him with a kiss, sealing his mouth over Castiel’s and sucking his bottom lips into his mouth. Allowing himself to be maneuvered under the covers, Castiel looped his arms around Dean’s neck to pull him closer. Now that he didn’t have to worry about Dean discovering the swell of his abdomen, he pressed as close to him as he could, desperate for the physical contact he had denied himself for too long._ _

__Apparently Dean felt the same way, because he clutched at Castiel like he was afraid his omega would slip through his fingers like fine sand and bestowed chaste kisses wherever he could reach. In Castiel’s hair, on his forehead, across his eyelids, the tip of his nose._ _

__After a while, Dean’s hands drifting from stroking Castiel’s cheeks to rest on his stomach, fingers tracing an abstract pattern and brushing away imaginary flecks of dust._ _

__“Her?” Dean asked._ _

__“What?”_ _

__“You said ‘her.’” Dean nosed at Castiel’s jaw until he tipped his head up, to which Dean made a happy sound and pressed light kisses to his windpipe. Between the kisses, he said, “Did you already find out the gender?”_ _

__“No,” Castiel said, shrugging when Dean met his gaze with surprise. He was just as shocked as Dean was. There was nothing to warrant the belief, but Castiel knew she was a girl somehow. “I just know.”_ _

__The air beneath the covers was warm with their shared body heat and before long, the combined warmth and gentle touches made Castiel sleepy. Just before he drifted off into the fog, he nudged his head below Dean’s jaw and asked the question that had been lurking in the back of his mind since he saw a little plus appear on a stick._ _

__“What do we do now?”_ _

__Dean buried his nose into Castiel’s hair and said, “Whatever we have to.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this part was so uneventful, I meant to only write one sequel but it kind of got away from me. I know nothing much happens but it sets everything up for the next (and final?) part of the collection.
> 
> *which hopefully I'll get around to writing soon. Been really busy with school and such, but summer is coming up!


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